


Mud Up to Here

by aleria



Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: Farmer Theo, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, POV First Person, POV Male Character, Parental Abuse, Parental Death, Past Abuse, Pining, Sarcasm, Swearing, Unrequited Crush, hopitals, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2019-02-28 10:42:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 27,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13269765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aleria/pseuds/aleria
Summary: The sun is high by the time I am done tilling the soil and I have found a huge rock right in the middle of where I wanted to plant my tomatoes. There is no way I am going to shift it so I mark the spot and start over again, ignoring the growing heat on my back becausethey told me I couldn’t do it.-----Theo is determined to start a new life and put his past behind him. Farming ishard, but he won't give up. Nothing can distract him, not event cute skaterboys who he can't stand-- no, really, he is totallynotinterested-- hanging around beingadorableannoying.





	1. Chapter 1

They told me I couldn’t do it.

The ground is hard this morning after two days of rain. It’s compact and cold and wet and this makes it even harder to till than before. I miss the days of soft, yielding soil, but I am not going to give up because they told me I couldn’t do it.

The sun is high by the time I am done tilling the soil and I have found a huge rock right in the middle of where I wanted to plant my tomatoes. There is no way I am going to shift it so I mark the spot and start over again, ignoring the growing heat on my back because _they told me I couldn’t do it_.

This is my first time growing things. I have read all of the books I could find and watched all the videos on youtube and even though my first crop of turnips were small and pathetic I still consider the yield pretty damn good. They don’t taste half bad, either, and the local grocer is kind enough to give me way more money than they are worth. I take his money because with each day I discover something new I need to buy: fertilizer, tools, sprinklers, repairs. This job has a lot more angles than I thought; a lot more complications. It’s not as simple as tossing a few seeds in the ground. I work hard everyday, and every day there is more to do.

I don’t give up, because they told me I couldn’t do it.

If you saw me, you wouldn’t think I was a farmer. OK, right now I am up to my elbows in dirt with a growing sunburn on my neck and sweat making my shirt stick to my body, but this isn’t the normal me. I am short and skinny and weak. But I am changing: I’ve been here for a month and even I can see the differences. I have muscles on my arms and a tan in my face. They wouldn’t recognize me back home. Would they still tell me I couldn’t do it?

I am done the work in the gardens by the time noon rolls around. I know it is noon only because my stomach is rumbling and the sun is too high in the sky. I hope to Yoba I have the sprinkler system in place before summer hits because watering the crops is what takes the most time. At least the can doesn’t feel nearly as heavy as it used to. Yes, I am definitely stronger than I was before. 

Lunches on the farm are simple. My kitchen is in disrepair and all I have is a little gas cooker and a fridge. Kitchen renovations are on my long list of things I want done with the money I someday hope to have. But with all of the things I need to buy I haven’t managed to save a single penny. My dad occasionally sends me some cash, which I would feel guilty about if I didn’t need it so badly. The result is another meal of bread and cheese and vegetables. 

I am halfway through my meal when the mayor shows up. Lewis is a nice guy-- almost too nice. He shows up like he thinks my property is as much his as it is my own. I want to be annoyed, but he’s so damned _nice_. At least he brought some company this time. He’s already forced me to meet every single person in this tiny village, but I’m too busy to keep up with them. I want to remember this one’s name, but it’s slipping from my memory.

“Ah, Theo!” Lewis says to me in a cheerful way. From his round belly, I doubt the man has ever had to toil on a farm the way I have been all morning. I try not to begrudge him for it. “How goes the morning work?”

The young man trailing in his wake looks disgruntled, with his hands shoved in jean pockets. His blond hair sticks up in random places as though he uses some kind of product. I vaguely remember a time when I would groom.

“Nearly done,” I say politely. I am trying not to sound as exhausted as I am.

“Nothing else left to do? No pressing jobs?”

I narrow my eyes at the mayor because I am suspicious of this line of questioning. Then I look over to the young guy and a memory is triggered. Wasn’t this the one who managed to destroy the mayor’s rose bushes the week that I moved into town?

“I have to clear some trees on the property,” I say slowly. “Robin says they’ll make good wood for building. I’m hoping to instal a chicken coop soon.”

“Ah, perfect!” Lewis says with a grin. I look from his round face again to the disgruntled young man. He seems to shift uncomfortably and does not meet my gaze. “I’m hoping you could do with some help. Sam here is in need of some work!”

Ah, of course. A small town like this doesn’t have any real fining system. If you destroy property, the mayor sets you on community service. I suppose helping me, a member of the community, counts. I want to refuse, but the job will be a lot easier with a second pair of hands.

“Do you know how to work an axe?” I ask the young man-- Sam? 

Sam actually looks at me and gives me a sarcastic glower. “Obviously.” No, not obviously, you brat. I can’t name two people from the city who even knew which end to hold. 

“Watch it, Sam,” the mayor reprimands. “Or I’ll find you something worse to do.”

Sam looks as though helping me is possibly the worst task the mayor could set him on. I make a mental note to make it just as hard as he thinks it will be.

I finish my lunch quickly and change into long jeans and steel-toed boots. Sam is waiting on my porch, looking out over the property. It’s only half cultivated, and the rest has been given away to wilderness. It’s going to take a long time to clear enough space for all of the plans I have. I join Sam on the porch with a squeak of the screen door. The old wood creaks underfoot. I’ll have to replace the boards eventually.

“Here,” I say, handing a pair of work gloves over. Sam looks at them with disdain, but eventually takes them. I decide not to say anything and start walking to the woods instead. I have already marked off the trees that I want down.

“This place is a dump.”

I suppose I should be grateful that the silence is being broken, but does he have to be so sullen? Honestly, he can't be more than a few years my junior, and yet I am getting serious teen vibes from him. I roll my eyes, but he’s behind me, so he can’t see.

“Well, no one’s lived here for a while. I inherited the property from my grandfather.”

“Yeah, I heard,” he replies and I want to smack the tone right out of his mouth. I’m starting to remember this guy now: I met him along with all the other young folk in town. There’s a group of them who went to highschool together a few towns over. Sam still lives at home, despite having graduated three years ago. I seem to remember some half-baked plan of becoming a musician and releasing an album.

“Well, you’d look like a dump if you were left to the wild, too.”

Sam doesn’t say anything to this, and maybe it's because he’s surprised that I am not a pushover. I’m done with people pushing me around. I’m done with letting people get to me.

We get down to business after that. The first tree should be the easiest one: it’s small and already dead. A few swings of the axe in the right spot should make it fall in the clearing nearby. I use the axe, because after a few weeks of practising I am getting pretty good at it. I make Sam stand on the far side when I am done making a wedge and when he pushes the tree comes down with a crack that echoes through the rest of the wild. 

Sam doesn’t complain about the work, but he’s surly and quiet the whole time we go about it. I am pleased that despite the fact that he’s taller than me and his shoulders are broader, he is running out of steam faster than I am. 

I overestimate our skill level, however. The fifth tree comes down the wrong way. We both get out of the way as he tilts towards us, but Sam manages to get a scrape on his arm. He yelps and curses, letting out some of the frustration I know he has pent up.

“Fucking tree,” he says, ripping off his glove and pressing a hand to the scratch. I come over to investigate because I feel sort of responsible for his well being.

“Let me see.”

“I’m _fine_.” He pulls away from me and sits heavily on a fresh tree stump. I let out a sigh that I know makes me sound like an old man. 

“Let’s take a break.” I sit down too and remove the canister of water I had slung over my back. I take a deep drink and hand it to Sam, who hasn’t stopped scowling. 

“This sucks,” he admits, and I want to laugh at how friggin obvious that statement is. He is not very deep, this one. “Who the hell actually chooses to live like this?”

I frown now, because he is trying to take a dig at me when he has practically just met me. I’m not the one who forced you into community service, buddy. I’m not sure even the mayor is to blame for that one. I wonder what stupid shit this guy pulled to get saddled with helping me, anyway.

“I did,” I admit, and I’m not ashamed to say so. I take the canister back from Sam and take another drink. He’s watching me with narrowed eyes, as though sizing me up.

“You’re a little scrawny for a farmer.” 

Great-- he’s said it. The thing that’s been itching at the front of my mind since I left the city a month ago. He doesn’t need to tell me because I _know_ it. But I can’t let it get to me. I told myself I was going to prove them all wrong.

“And you’re a little old to be living in your mother’s house.”

He colours noticeably-- mostly around the ears. I feel a little bad for the dig but he started it. I look at him stubbornly until he is forced to look away. 

We finish for the day because Sam’s arm needs a bandaid or two and I don’t want to be around him anymore. I tell the mayor when I see him later that evening that Sam worked hard and doesn’t need any further punishment. I am itching to ask him what Sam did to receive the punishment, but I know I am just being petty. Lewis seems satisfied and he tells me cheerfully to let him know if I ever needed more help. I promise, but I hope that day does not come.


	2. Chapter 2

Somehow I have been lumped in with the ‘young folk’ in the village. It’s true that I am not yet 25 and I look young for my age but I would like to think my maturity goes beyond the surface. I’m not some lazy youth who spends all my time playing guitar and wishing I wasn’t living in Pelican Town. I did _choose_ to live here, after all, toiling away on a little hobby farm instead of living my real life in the city. 

So why am I sitting here, in a backwater tavern, playing pool in the middle of the afternoon with a bunch of people who are barely old enough to pay taxes. OK, so the one called ‘Sebastian’ has a Real Life Job™ and overly friendly ‘Abigail’ was due to college in the fall but that didn’t excuse Sam-- Sam who has a brother still in elementary school and a part time job and a friggin _garageband_. 

And then there’s me, back sore from the work I already put into the farm this morning and arms tanned up to the sleeves. I had a shower before I got here but I think I still smell like grass. I tried to flatten my hair but it’s gotten too long and I’m not sure who the hell cuts hair in a town like this. I used to care a lot about how I looked when I was socializing, but being on a farm has changed me. Instead of being worried about my image, I am running weather forecasts through my head. I am thinking about how to build a new bean runner. I am wondering how my new chicks are doing in their newly built coop.

“And then there’s Maru, who’s pretty cool,” Abigail is saying. She’s the one who lasood me into this little social hour, not 24 hours after first meeting her. Now she’s giving me the ‘scoop’ on all of the other people in town. I make myself listen to her, because she’s really trying to be nice to me, even if my mind keeps wandering back to the farm. She’s a lot nicer than Sam, who keeps shooting daggers at me with his eyes. He must think that I am in line with the mayor who, apparently, has it out for Sam. Something about a prejudice against skateboarders.

Of fucking course he skateboards.

“Ugh, Maru,” Sebastian says, and it's surprising because he’s been pretty quiet this whole time. “She’s got this new _project_ and mom’s so proud.” Wow, family drama much?

“You should have brought her to meet Theo,” Abigail scolds, lightly punching him in the shoulder. It’s subtle, but I get the impression she is flirting with him. And from the way he doesn’t seem to mind the punch, I imagine the attention is welcome. 

Sebastian is some kind of new age scene punk goth kid, if there was such a thing. I guess it’s hard to nail down what sub culture you are a part of when you’re raised in the middle of nowhere. He’s got this thing with his black hair where it covers half his face dramatically. He looks like a goddamn anime character, so of course he likes the cute girl with purple hair. 

“He already met everyone, remember?” says Sam and I am trying to to decide if he’s somehow making fun of me. “He’s, like, some kind of celebrity.”

“Don’t mind Sam,” Abigail says with a flick of her wrist. “He’s just cranky because he got another noise complaint last night.”

“From _Hailey_ ,” he says with a stubborn lip. He crosses his arms over his chest like a child. “She’s too fucking sensitive.”

“Sam, we were practising until 10pm,” Abigail says with exasperation. “Why on Earth did you need to keep playing past then?” Sam doesn’t answer, and instead snatches up the pool cue and lines up a shot. He misses.

Abigail sighs like an overworked mother. “Anyway, _most_ people in this town are pretty cool. I mean, there’s so few of us that we sort of get on each other’s nerves, but it’s like a big family, you know? And a fresh face _is_ like a celebrity-- we get them so infrequently. And to have someone young and cute this time: thank Yoba!”

I can feel a creep of warmth up my neck, and I look down at my can of soda. It’s been awhile since someone complimented me. Not that Abigail is my type: she’s entirely the wrong gender. But the comment makes me feel good nonetheless.

Sam makes a little impatient sound, but I can’t tell if it’s because he’s managed to scratch again. When I look over to him, he’s rolling his eyes and I feel myself bristle.

“At least some people want to meet me,” I say pointedly before I can stop myself. Sam looks looks up and actually glares at me. 

Abigail is fidgeting as though she isn’t comfortable with the tension. “Of course we do, right Seb? Maybe we can finally have enough people to play that game you just bought.”

“I dunno,” Sebastian says with hesitation. “Do you play board games?”

“Do I play board games?” I scoff because, kid, I’m from the city where we have been playing board games unironically for years. You can’t throw a latte cup without hitting a board game cafe. Just because I’m suddenly kneeling in the dirt, doesn’t mean I’m not civilized. “What game you got?”

“Agricola,” he says tentatively. I want to laugh at the irony: it’s a game about farming. 

“Yeah, man, I’ve played.” Sebastian gives me a tentative smile and I can’t filter out the resigned sigh issuing out of Sam’s mouth from behind him. Abigail makes a little satisfied sound and goes on about how we have to hang out as soon as possible. I have to admit that I’m looking forward to playing games. It’s something I never imagined I would do once I moved out of the city. I am smiling when I leave the tavern and make my way back home.

\-------------

I’m in a good mood that night, which is probably why I am so off-guard. It’s the warmest it has been since I moved here; I am no longer worried about frost and it’s nice enough to sit outside and watch the sun go down. The baby chickens are doing great and the coop is holding up nicely. I managed to rig a new frame for the beans before settling into supper and I feel like things are finally getting a little easier. 

The bathroom hasn’t been renovated yet so I have been living off of an outhouse and the weak outdoor shower which is probably supposed to be for hosing off after a day of mucking in the fields. I have yet to have a real shower in it because it is at the back of the cabin, on a wall shared with the real (broken) shower inside. You can see it clearly from the lane and I have yet to rig up any privacy precautions because honestly, I have more important things to worry about. 

So I’ve been showering in my underpants for the most part, on the off chance that Lewis or someone else comes bustling onto my property. I have also managed to figure out the best times to shower-- dinner time is pretty safe-- and so far I have been successful. I can’t wait for the real shower to be fixed. When it is I am going to take the longest shower of my life. Nude.

But today, because of my recent success in achieving privacy, I am feeling bold. I only need a quick rinse and then I’ll be on my way. I hang my towel over the valve that controls the temperature (at least this shower is hooked up to the water heater, which, miraculously, works!) and strip down. A wave of goosebumps travels over my skin as a breeze catches me before I let the hot stream shower my head and shoulders. 

It’s bliss, showering after a long day. I could stand here forever, except that the chances of being caught buck naked increased with the time I am out here. It’s stupid, really: this is my property after all. How poor is my situation in life that I have to sneak showers like a thief?

I keep one eye on the gate while lathering up with the soap that I keep out here in a tupperware container. I used to leave shampoo and conditioner out here too, until I got too lazy. Now I just use the soap, and let the silty well water soften my hair. It’s nice, really, letting go of the routines I used to cling to. 

I close my eyes and feel a deep, happy calm spread over my body. My muscles are sore in a work-well-done sort of way and my dinner sits comfortably in my stomach. I am making friends and the farm is settled as best it can be. I arch my back and my sternum cracks slightly in a satisfying way and I sigh.

A noise makes me eyes fly open in surprise. It sounds like something thudding on the hard packed ground, muted by soft grass. I turn my neck too fast and wince at the pain that cracks through it. My eyes meet Sam’s and I forget every other sensation in my body.

“Shit,” is all I can manage to say as I stumble forward and grab my towel clumsily. I almost continue falling forward onto my face, but I catch myself just in time. “What the hell, dude!”

Sam is staring with his mouth open, and my curse seems to snap him out of his stunned silence. “Sorry!” He is holding and armful of basket, overfilled with fruit. An apple had fallen off the top of the pile and onto the grass beneath his feet.

I wrap my towel around myself faster than I ever had before. Sam is a good 40 yards away, which is far enough that I had not noticed his approach, but close enough that he definitely got an eyeful. I want to scowl at him and tell him off for coming unannounced but honestly, I am too embarrassed to say anything coherent. 

“From Pierre,” he mumbles, indicating the basket. “It’s overflow and…” He seems to be struggling to remember words he was supposed to be saying. “He asked me to bring it.”

I should be grateful, I know, but I am still flustered and annoyed. “Just-- leave it there,” I snap, turning back to the shower to shut off the water and put away the soap. I busy myself with the temperature valve unnecessarily, waiting to hear the sounds of Sam’s retreat. When I finally look back around, he is gone.


	3. Chapter 3

I shouldn’t feel so upset by what happened with Sam, but I am. We were two adult guys, totally familiar with male bodies. I should be laughing it off and going back to thinking about farming but I spend the rest of the night reliving the embarrassing moment. Would it have been less embarrassing if it had been a girl, I wonder? What if it was Lewis? Could it be that I am feeling so fucking awkward because the person who saw me was not only a male, but one that I have to admit is frustratingly good looking?

At least farm work is taking my mind off of it. It’s raining the next day which is great because I haven’t gotten the new sprinklers installed yet, but also not great because the chicks are desperate to get outside. I was planning on shifting some rocks on the property, too, but the slick mud makes it impossible. I settle on the unhappy task of protecting the newly planted radishes from being washed away, because apparently I planted them in a poor location. 

By the end of the morning I am tired and drenched because the raincoat I bought is not enough for hours of working in constant downpour. I spend lunchtime huddled in front of my fireplace, shivering and frowning because now that I am done working, I am thinking about what happened last night again.

When my phone rings I honestly don’t know what I am hearing. It takes me a minute to remember that a) I still have a cell phone, and b) I gave my number to Abigail, which accounts for why I hear her voice when I finally answer. 

“ _Are you working today?_ ” she asks, and there is static over the phone, as if the thunder is testing the signal. 

“I just finished,” I admit. I wriggle my toes in front of the fire, next to my wet socks. “It’s pretty terrible out there.”

_“I know-- it’s sort of the perfect day for a board game, right?”_

I don’t respond right away, because I am having an internal battle between wanting to play a game (which I do, very much) and not wanting to see Sam’s face. Like, ever.

 _“We can bring it to the farm if you want!”_ she says quickly, because she probably hears the hesitation. _“We’ll bring some snacks and drinks and make an afternoon of it. What do you think?”_

I look around the sparse living room that I have also made into a bedroom. The upstairs has a huge hole in the middle of the bedroom and the kitchen is still unusable so right now I am all but living in a one-room cabin.

“No, that’s fine, I can come over.”

 _“Great!”_ she says with real enthusiasm. _“We’re going over to Sam’s, because his mum loves having us and she makes the best food. Also Seb’s trying to avoid his family right now, which I told him is ridiculous, but do you think he listens to me?”_ I’m smiling again, I realize. How easily I have been engulfed into this friendship and I do nothing to fight it.

And just like that I have been convinced to go out in the rain and face certain embarrassment. 

It’s still pouring when I leave the house. I have another coat and an umbrella but I have to face the fact that I am not going to be altogether dry by the time I get there. I consider staying home at the last minute, but I have decided to do the brave thing and face my fucking fears. 

I leave my farm by the south road, which is really just a path that winds down through the remaining trees and by Marnie’s ranch. It passes a quiet, pleasant little forest and river. It’s a nice place to fish, and I am getting better at not just catching bits of seaweed and sunken logs. I even find myself strolling through the forest on occasion. But now the rain has muted the forest and swelled the river. The path that runs along the bank is precariously close to the water, so I do my best to watch my footing as I walk. 

There’s someone else walking on the path towards me. He’s tall and has a hood up so I don’t recognize him at first. The path is narrow so we are going to have to be careful when we pass one another. I step lightly towards the river, moving my umbrella away as to not poke the stranger’s eye out.

Of course I slip, because I haven’t been embarrassed enough this week.

The stranger’s reflexes are quick, and just in the moment that I think I am going to get a lot wetter in the surging river, he grabs my arm and pulls me into himself. My heart is hammering louder than the beat of rain on my umbrella.

“Lord-- Yoba, thank you!” I exclaim, because the rain is loud. “I’m such an idiot.”

The stranger has a long, handsome face and I recognize him as the writer who lives near the ocean. I can smell something sweet from under his thick cloak. “Not so,” he says like some kind of Shakespearean character. “You should be careful, though. Where are you headed?”

I point down the path. “Willow Lane.” My hand is soaked within seconds of being protruded in the downpour.

The man nods, and links arms with me. I want to protest, but he’s already steering me down the path. His hold on my arm is firm and I know that this time I will not fall into the river. 

“Elliot,” he says, because he somehow knew that I had forgotten his name. “I was just headed to Leah’s cabin.”

“Theo,” I say, but he probably knows my name. I know people have been talking about me, for good or for ill.

“I hope you will not come back this way, Theo,” Elliot says, with some concern. We are nearing the edge of the Pelican Town on the west side. Sam lives near here, I know. “It is not safe.”

I am nodding, even if Elliot does not see it. He walks me right to the front door of the first house on the lane, as if I am a small child. I am not sure how annoyed to be, but in the end I decide to be polite. “Thank you.”

Elliot releases me and steps back with a smile curling on his lips. “Anything for the new famer,” he says with a little bow of the head that reinforces his image of a classical stereotype. “I hope to see you again.” And he strides off with confidence in the downpour. I watch him go, trying to decide what I think of him.

“Was that Elliot?” asks a voice, and I turn to see that the door had opened at some point. Sam is watching Elliot’s retreating back with a suspicious glare. “You friends with him already?”

I blink in surprise at the question. “What? I don’t know. I sort of just met him.” At this point I suppose I could call the whole town my ‘friend’. 

“Well, are you coming in?”

I fold my umbrella and step into the blissfully warm front hallway. Sam steps out of my way, cringing from the fat drops that are falling from my coat. “I’ll get you a towel.”

I watch him leave with even more trepidation than I had with Elliot. I am waiting for the other shoe to drop-- for him to suddenly start making fun of me for the embarrassing scene he observed yesterday. He returns and hands me a towel without a word, however, treating me with as much mild dislike as usual.

Maybe I am overreacting. Sam probably doesn’t care because at least he didn’t seen a naked girl last night. The only one who cares is me, and that’s because I’m gay.

I take off my coat and lament the wet patches on my shirt, sticking to my chest. I start to towel off my face and hair and eventually look up to see Sam is still standing there, watching me. His face is impassive, but his ears are red. 

So what does _that_ mean?

“Theo!” says Abigail and I could hug her for interrupting at that moment. “Did you fall in the river?”

“Nearly. Elliot sort of saved me, actually.”

“Oooo,” she cooes. “How dramatic! He’s a writer, you know.”

“I know.” I finish with the towel and sidestep Sam as unawkwardly as possible. I fail, and stumble into a side table, making the pictures there rattle. “Sorry,” I say the the table. Abigail laughs. 

It turns out Sam’s mother is _wonderful_. She is already making cookies when I meet her in the kitchen and she want to loan me dry clothing and I feel like her son within minutes.

“Come on, mum,” Sam says and he sounds embarrassed. “Leave him alone.”

“But he’s _cold_ , Sammy. Get him one of your shirts, will you?” I want to laugh at the nickname but honestly it just makes me want a nickname. I haven’t seen my own mother in years. Sam grumbles as he retreats to his room. 

“Heya Jodi,” says Sebastian when he enters the kitchen, looking much less wet than I am. He reaches into the cookie batter and takes a generous finger-load. Sam’s mother smacks him on the back of the hand with her wooden spoon.

“Don’t eat raw eggs,” she scolds.

We play Agricola in Sam’s room, while eating cookies and drinking beer. It was clear that Jodi was hesitant about the latter but Sam reminds her kindly that he is now 21 and damned if he is going to keep drinking soda like a child. To which Sebastian points out that Sam _loves_ soda and they laugh. I laugh, too, because it is infectious and I’m starting to feel more comfortable, even if I am wearing one of Sam’s too-large shirts. It smells different than my own clothing which means this is probably what Sam smells like. I avoid taking a deep breath for the rest of the afternoon.

I can’t help it-- I am having fun with these people. They are down-to-Earth and uncomplicated, so unlike the friends I left behind in the city. They talk about their childhood and school, retelling stories and making references that I don’t understand, but I love to hear anyway. Their life, predictably, has been simple and happy.

In the end, this is why I came to my grandfather’s farm. Not because I was determined to prove myself to others, but because I was desperate for the simple joys in life. I wanted to feel the earth between my fingers and make real connections with people and watch the sun set. I am smiling again while I listen to another story about Sam pissing off the mayor. It may be the beer, or the cookies, but I am happy.

Sam is looking at me when I glance over. His eyes are blue, I note, like the sky. He offers a small smile from the corner of his mouth and I feel a warm feeling deep in my stomach which forces me to look away.


	4. Chapter 4

Summer has come, and it is way, way hotter than I anticipated. Thank Yoba I got the sprinklers working because I am not prepared to walk up and down the rows of vegetables with the big, heavy watering can. By 8am the sun is too high in the sky and I am sweating from picking ripe vegetables. At least the harvest is good and I will have a fair stock to bring to the grocers. 

The chickens are nearly old enough to lay, too. I have 6 hens, which could mean a dozen eggs every other day. The time I don’t spent tending to the farm I have put into fishing and downing trees. Robin gives me good money for the wood and Willy on the pier buys my fish. By the end of the summer I should have saved enough to renovate the house.

My life has fallen into a comfortable routine of work, with snatches of rest and play that put me at ease. I no longer wonder what I will do each day, and the predictability relieves me of more stress than I thought possible. 

Abigail and I are growing close. She has all but adopted me as her child but I don’t mind because we have a lot in common. She plays video games and board games and has a sarcastic sense of humour that I didn’t expect, but love. She shows up on the farm in the evenings to tell me about her life and her future. Sometimes she helps me with work but mostly she wants someone to talk to. I ask her why she doesn’t talk to Sebastian.

“I do,” she says quickly, but I catch the soft pink tint in her cheeks. 

“But not as much as you would like.”

She is definitely blushing now and I want to laugh at her, but I stop myself. “Why don’t you make a move on him already?”

“I’ve _tried_ ,” she whines. “But he’s so clueless! I think he doesn’t like me. At least, not like that. And I don’t want to mess up a good friendship, you know?”

I roll my eyes at her, the same way I have over these past few weeks when this same topic is raised. “It’s going to happen eventually,” I say, like someone observing two opposite gendered mice in a science experiment. “You might as well make the first real move.”

“Ugh,” she groans, burying her face in her hands. She both loves and hates talking about Sebastian with me. “What about _you_?” she deflects defly.

I lean back on the porch, my feet bare on the grass below. “What about me?”

“Who do you like?” 

I don’t answer her because, honestly, I don’t know. I flip through the people in the village and decide that none of them are likely to be interested in a guy like me. “I’m happy being single,” I say lightly.

Abigail makes an impatient sound and crosses her arms. “Whatever. I’m going to find you someone, just you wait.”

“Please don’t.”

Abigail grins, and I am a little afraid.

\-----------------

Luckily all she has planned is a camp out at my house, to which she invites the usuals: Sam and Sebastian. I am wondering if this is her idea of making the first move and I decide to support her decision and offer to host the camp at my place. It’s gotten nice enough at night that you can sleep outside without being too cold. And it is early enough in the season that there are no bugs yet.

We make a fire in the front yard, where I have cleared a little area of debris and set a few logs to sit on. The porch is nearby and makes for a surface to lay our sleeping bags on. Sebastian has brought a fair amount of beer and Sam’s mother has packed way too much food and Abigail brings her unbounded enthusiasm.

The crickets are starting to come out by the time we have built up a good fire. It’s warm from the log benches but not so bad as the sun starts to set. The sky is clear and there will probably be stars. I have gazed at the stars so many times since moving here, but I still am not sick of seeing them.

“Someone tell a ghost story!” Abigail says after a few beers. Sam groans and I laugh. Aren’t we too old for scary stories? 

“Sure, I’ll tell the one about what you wore to Junior prom,” Sebastian says playfully and Abigail cries out in dismay. Sam is laughing, which suggests he knows the story.

“She-- it--” he is staggering to say, and he has to actually double over from laughing. Sebastian manages to describe the awkward, lolita-style dress that did not fit 16 year old Abigail at all and had made her look like the worst weeaboo either of them had seen. By the end of the description even Abigail is laughing.

I have tears in my eyes and I have to stop to breathe for a long time after that one. I manage to calm down by the time Abigail looks accusingly at me. “Alright, smart ass, tell me about _your_ embarrassing high school experience!”

I make a noncommittal gesture because I really don’t want to get into my childhood. I have been out of school for 7 years and I have been spending the whole time trying to forget about it. 

“No good stories, sorry,” I say as cheerfully as possible. 

“Oh, come on, Theo,” she presses. It’s annoying, but she can’t possibly know what box of teenaged angst that I am trying not to open. “Were you ugly or something?”

“Just as ugly as I am now,” I say playfully, but I am still trying to deflect the questions.

“Ugh, come on, dude,” Sam says now. “Tell us _something_.”

I sigh and I want to keep smiling but I feel my face falling. The box is opening and I am flipping through the terrible memories to try to dredge up something that isn’t a mood killer. “I guess-- there was the time I managed to fall down a flight of stairs in the middle of a fire drill.”

“That-- oh, Theo, that’s sort of sad!” 

I force myself to laugh. “No, no-- I was fine! It was just super awkward. Like, I went head over heels. They made me go to the nurse’s office and everything.”

“Real graceful, aren’t ya?” Sam says with a smirk.

“Yeah, like a gazelle.”

“Speak for yourself, Sam,” Sebastian adds. “Remember when we went canoeing last summer?”

Sam groans and hides his face in his hands.

“Wait, I haven’t heard this one!” Abigail says eagerly. 

“He got drunk and decided to stand up in the canoe. We tipped. He lost his watch in the water. Basically, he’s an idiot.”

I am laughing again, thank Yoba. The mental image of a drunk Sam standing on an unbalanced canoe has me mirthful. Sam is taking turns shooting glares at me and Sebastian-- me, for laughing so hard, and Sebastian for telling the story. But he’s smiling, too.

A few more drinks in and Abigail has managed to plant herself right next to Sebastian and the gesture is not lost on me. I wonder, tipsily, if there’s a way to give them privacy. I am determined to play cupid, and so I point at them. “You two,” I say dramatically, because I have been drinking after all. “Go get me more wood.”

Seb opens his mouth to protest but Abigail is already on her feet. She takes his hand and drags him up. “Come on, I’m not going alone!” He has no time to hesitate as she is pulling him into the darkness, in the direction of the big log pile that stands near the edge of the big field. 

“Smooth,” says Sam accusingly. I look at him a little guiltily and he shakes his head.

“Come on, you know this is what is best for them.”

“Seb has always been an idiot,” Sam says, putting down another empty beer and stretching his arms above his head. I can see a little flash of stomach under his shirt and I turn back to the fire before letting the image burn into my brain.

“So, uh…” I turn back to him, because there is a sudden nervousness in his tone that I wasn’t expecting. “I wanted to say ‘sorry’.”

I am blinking too often, I know, but I am confused and I don’t know what to say. 

Sam rubs the back of his neck and looks into the fire. “I never got to apologize. For that time that I-- you know.” I can see his throat bob as he swallows. “When I came by unannounced.”

I had managed to make myself forget about that embarrassing moment. Suddenly I am finding it hard to breathe

“I should say ‘sorry’, actually,” I say quickly. I can feel my face burning, though not from the fire. “It was pretty dumb of me. And gross. Sorry.”

“Don’t,” Sam says and I have to look at him to try to understand what he means. He’s rubbing a hand over his mouth, as though it is a nervous habit. “Don’t be sorry. You’re not… gross, or whatever.”

My brain is having trouble processing what he is saying, so I take another drink to give myself time to work it out. “Apology accepted,” I say finally in a voice that is weaker than I want it to be. I know there is an awkward silence coming but I can’t find anything to say to break it. I keep chewing on my lip, suddenly wanting Abigail and Sebastian to come back.

“Do you think they kissed yet?” Sam asks, and I sneak a look at him. He isn’t chewing his lips, so much as running his tongue over them again and again. I have to look away again.

“I don’t know if I want them to, actually. I mean, we’re sleeping right next to them.”

Sam makes a noise of disgust and we exchange a look that makes us both laugh.


	5. Chapter 5

Sleeping on the porch in a sleeping bag is only slightly less comfortable than the single mattress inside the house. Buying a new bed isn’t high on my priority list, but after sleeping on hard wood, I realize just how bad that mattress is. I probably don’t notice because I tend to be so exhausted at night that I would probably sleep well on a bed of needles. 

I am in between Sam and Abigail, and thankfully, Abigail is in her own sleeping bag when we wake up. I will have to wait for a private talk with her another time before learning what transpired between her and Sebastian last night. On the other side Sam is half buried in his pillow, completely dead to the world. I spend a moment watching him, because I spend most of the time trying _not_ to look at him and this is a rare moment. I roll our conversation through my head again, trying to read between the lines. It’s making me a little giddy, so I force myself to get up.

I have a hangover, but I still have work to do. I turn on the sprinklers first, letting the plants water while I put on a pair of boots and head to the chicken coop. The hens are desperate for fresh air and rush the entrance when I open the door. They are happy and fed by the time I go back to the garden to see how the crops are growing.

Sam is sitting up and rubbing his eyes when I pass him, giving him a half-hearted wave. “Back to work,” I say softly, not wanting to wake the others. He watches me mutely as I toil, and I try not to feel his eyes on me. 

When I am done picking the vegetables I bring a fresh batch of strawberries to the firepit. From the house I also extract cream and oats in a pot. I set to work building up the fire again, stirring the coals to make a hot place to cook on. By the time Sam joins me water is boiling in the pot and the oats are cooking. He steals and strawberry and pops it into his mouth. He has bed hair and his shirt is rumpled from sleeping in it. “Nice,” he says to the strawberry, and I grin.

We have oatmeal and strawberries when the others join us, along with a pot of coffee that I admittedly make with the electric coffee maker. We are all feeling the beer, but it is still a cheerful sort of morning. We laugh about stupid things but mostly eat in comfortable silence.

We are packing up when Elliot arrives. No one is more surprised to see him than me, and I stop cleaning up to stare at him with a slightly open mouth. 

“Good morning!” he says cheerfully, like someone who has not been drinking all night. He has this immaculate head of long auburn hair and smooth skin that suggests that he uses a face mask. I would be impressed if I wasn’t so jealous. “A slumber party?”

“Morning, Elliot,” say Abigail, because she is the social one. The rest of us grunt. 

“Abigail, my dear,” Elliot says with a sweep of his hand that catches hers and brings it to his lips. “You look lovely today.”

Sam snorts in laughter, because she does _not_ look lovely. He receives a well-earned glare.

“And Theo,” Elliot continues, ignoring the laughter. I jump from the sound because I was not expecting to be addressed, despite this being my home that he came to visit. “I realized I have not welcomed you properly to our little town. A gift.”

He is handing me a basket and I see that there are several seed packets inside. They are labelled with the names of different flowers in fancy, loopy writing. “For your garden,” Elliot supplies.

“Oh, thanks,” I say lamely. I have never been good at accepting gifts. 

“Think nothing of it,” Elliot says to make up for my incivility. When I look up to him he is leaning in close, and I can smell sweetness drifting off of him. His eyes are searching my face and he is smiling faintly, so I start to feel self conscious.

The others have continued to pack up their things so I step back. “Ah, I need to finish this,” I say quickly, referring to the vegetables I had been pruning and washing. “Thanks again, Elliot.”

“My pleasure. Until next time.” He steps forward to put a hand gently on my shoulder, gives it a squeeze and then turns to stride back the way he had came. I am left in stunned silence to contemplate what had happened.

I snap out of it when Abigail steps beside me to look in the basket. “Flowers?” Surprisingly, she starts to laugh through her nose. “Oh, Theo, that’s adorable.”

“What?” I snap.

“He gave you _flowers_.”

I look down at the basket again and feel a rush of embarrassment. “They’re seeds.”

“Oh, darling, I think he’s _courting you_.” I look at her face quickly and see that she is deeply pleased with her conclusion.

“That’s--”

“I agree,” says Seb, and I want to protest, but I don’t know how. “He’s got his eyes on you.”

“Wha-what do I do?” I ask, because I am being sidelined here and these people are supposed to be my _friends_. 

Abigail shrugs, but looks no less pleased. “I dunno. Do you like him?”

I am blushing completely now, not just from the implication of being with someone like Elliot, but from the realization that I am not fooling _anyone_ about my sexual orientation. I look from Abigail to Sebastian to Sam, lingering on that last face. He doesn’t look surprised, but he is frowning very slightly.

“I- I don’t know. I just met him.”

“Well, I’m sure he’ll give you plenty of chances to figure it out,” Abigail says with an all-knowing tone. “Ten gold says he’ll be back tomorrow.”

I frown, because she is right.

He comes back the next day with crushed shells, which he tells me helps with fertilizing the soil. He’s right and I hate that he has probably spent time collecting and crushing them for me. I am no more gracious in accepting this gift as I was with the flower seeds. He doesn’t seem all that upset because he smiles when I sputter a ‘thanks’ and this time he leaves me with a tender touch on my cheek.

The next day he invites me to read his latest work in his cabin, and I blurt out a refusal before I know what I am saying.

“Sorry, I’m just planning a trip tomorrow,” I say, which is true, because the head of the Adventurer's Guild has offered to give me a tour of the caverns and show me the stones that the museum is looking for. It’s an opportunity to make a decent amount of money. 

Elliot doesn’t seem put off by my refusal. “Another day, then!” he says cheerfully. He steps very close to me this time and I find myself holding my breath. I am wearing gardening gloves and I am sure I smell of sweat and dirt. He raises his hand and uses a thumb to brush something off of my cheek bone. “Don’t work too hard, dear,” he says in a low tone that makes me shutter.

Abigail is right, of course. He isn’t just hitting on me, he is _courting_ me, and I don’t know what the fuck to do. 

I want to tell her so, so I make plans to meet her and the others at the tavern a few days later. It’s been a hard week, and I need a drink pretty bad. I haven’t been able to see anyone and I honestly miss them. I want to laugh and joke around with someone other than the grocer. 

It must be Friday when I get to the tavern because everyone is there. I am stopped three times on my way to the bar by people wanting to say ‘hello’ and ask me how the farm is going. I give nearly identical answers to everyone and by the time I order a drink I am practically salivating from desire for it.

“Ah, Theo!” My heart nearly stops from the voice because _of course_ Elliot is here. He is holding a wine glass in the palm of his hand and is leaning on the counter with his other arm. He pushed himself off of the bar and steps towards me and I suddenly want to run away. “What providence.” His normally sweet aroma is masked by the smell of red wine. He is leaning too close.

“Hey,” I say meekly. I take a quick drink of beer to cover my nervousness and let my eyes quickly scan the room. Where are the others? 

“Theo,” Elliot says and he is leaning impossibly close to me. I can’t tell if he’s drunk or if he is usually this forward. I feel myself cringing backwards. His eyes are searching my face and they settle on my mouth, which I busy with another gulp of beer. “Have I told you how adorable you are?”

I almost choke on my beer, and thank Yoba that is the exact moment I spot Abigail’s obnoxious purple hair. “Ah, there’s Abigail!” I say too loudly. Elliot backs up in surprise and looks to where I indicate. He is definitely not pleased, but I push past him anyway.

I approach the table where my three friends are sitting with wide eyes, desperate to convey the screaming in my head. “Hey guys.”

“Theo!” says Abigail happily, but her eyebrows are raised in question. She looks beyond me and then realization dawns on her. “And Elliot, hi!”

Elliot drapes an arm over my shoulder and gestures at the three wondering pairs of eyes. “My friends! How is everyone this fair night?”

I look at each face, seeking help from their astonished gazes. The arm over my shoulder feels heavy and no longer do I have any question about whether I like Elliot or not. I am considering making a dash for the door when Sam stands up and gestures to his chair. “I saved your seat, Theo,” he says and I feel a rush of gratitude. Elliot is forced to release me and I sit down. My beer sloshes when I set it unevenly on the table.

There is a strange moment where Elliot tries to move himself beside my chair but he is blocked, physically, by Sam. He stops in surprise, as if he didn’t realize there was a body in his way. Then he looks at Sam and realization dawns on him. They lock eyes for a moment before he takes a casual drink and smiles at his empty glass.

“Ah, I am due for another,” he says conveniently. “Theo, it is dark on the path back to the farm. It I might walk you--”

“I’m walking him home,” Sam cuts him off. Elliot looks stunned, but only for a moment before his face drops and he narrows his eyes at the blonde. There is another pause as they are locked in another silent staring contest. 

My heart is beating a mile a minute but I can’t look away. Chatter is continuing around the tavern but the table is silent, waiting for the lines to break and one of the armies to move off the battlefield.

“Until next time, Theo,” Elliot says finally, and when he saunters away a collective sigh sounds around the table.

“Thanks, guys,” I say with my head in my hands. I want to thank Sam specifically but a number of questionable things are rolling around my head and I need a drink to set myself straight. 

“I take it you aren’t into him then,” Abigail says, actually sounding disappointed. I glare at her and she seems to take the hint.


	6. Chapter 6

The night is salvaged, and though this time I make sure not to drink too much, I am still lightly buzzed and relaxed by the end of the evening. Elliot is gone by the time we say our goodbyes and I feel safe to head home and forget about the awkward encounter. 

When I step outside into the warm summer night, I see Sam waiting for me. “Where are the others?”

“They went home,” Sam says, as if this should be obvious. Why, then, is Sam still here? He’s watching me with a self conscious look on his face. “You coming?”

I realize I’ve been hovering on the steps of the tavern and I finally convince my legs to take the two steps to the path where Sam is waiting. “I thought,” I start, but I am not sure where this sentence is going. “You don’t actually half to walk me home, you know.”

Sam frowns and shoves his hands into his pockets. “I know,” he says a little sullenly. “But I said I would.”

Yeah, you said you would so that Elliot would back off. “Thanks,” I say instead. He was just being my friend, right? He was just saying those things to protect his friend.

I am feeling a flush creep up the back of my neck, and I struggle to keep a straight face. We walk side by side along the empty stone road that makes up the centre of Pelican Town. Crickets are singing in the bushes that line the square and moths flap around a single lamppost that illuminates our way. Beyond the lights the stars are out in force.

“So, Abigail and Sebastian…?” I ask tentatively.

“I think they’re together now,” Sam supplies. “I mean, Seb thinks they are. But he’s an idiot.”

I laugh out of my nose. “Yeah. I’ll ask Abby later. I want to know what happened at the camp out.”

“Ugh, not me,” Sam says with a grimace. “I’ve known those two since they were kids, man. They’re like siblings. The thought of them _together_....”

“Don’t be so naive,” I say with a roll of my eyes. “It was bound to happen.”

“Yeah,” he says softly and he takes one of his hands out of his pocket so that it brushes lightly against my knuckles. The faint touch sends a jolt of feeling up my arm. “I guess I’m sort of worried about the whole ‘third wheel’ thing.”

I snatch a look at him sideways, wondering what face he’s making. He doesn’t look sad, so much as nervous. He keep wetting his lower lip. “You need to find a girlfriend then.”

Sam doesn’t reply right away, but looks up at the stars with a breath. “Yeah, I guess.”

He leaves me at the gate and I want to linger to say goodnight, but the happy buzz is starting to wear off and I am second guessing myself. All I give him is a look that even I wouldn’t understand if I was staring myself in the mirror. He returns to me a little smile that I don’t deserve before turning away to head home.

\-------------------

I am fucked.

I am so, completely _fucked_. 

I have always had a problem with falling in love. I can try to deny it but the fact is I fall too easily and I fall for the wrong ones every time. They turn out to be assholes or psychopaths or straight. The last one gets me the most because those ones are always perfect in every way, except that they will never love me back.

So yeah, I'm fucked. I have a track record and chances are I am making the same mistakes I always make. I am not sure I want to know which mistake I made this time. 

But I'm going to find out, because I'm in deep and I won't sleep until I find out how fucked I am. At least then I can start the healing process.

This was supposed to be a simple life. It was supposed to be me and the soil and the green things that grew from it. I was supposed to have left heartache behind in the city. 

In the end, maybe I am the problem. Maybe I am cursed. Maybe I am the one who is going to corrupt this peaceful life. 

I'm dwelling on it and I know I have to think of something else. I try to lose myself in the farm work but his face pops in my mind when I lose focus. His voice is in my ears and his words are kind and supportive. I am melting from the desire to see him again. I want him to say my name and walk beside me. I want him to hold me. 

I try to brush the thoughts aside and get down to work because there is a sudden and alarming infestation of weeds in the strawberry patch. I must have missed them yesterday because there is no way they popped up overnight. The entire morning is spent pulling them up and hoping to Yoba that I am getting them all because there is no way I am raising the whole patch and starting over. 

There is a ray of sunshine peeking out of my otherwise cloudy morning. Abby shows up and she has brought sushi. I could cry at the sight of it because it is a luxury I definitely thought I was leaving behind when I moved to the country. Abigail made it herself and when I press her for details I learn it is because it is Sebastian’s favourite thing to eat.

“Well, I am definitely going to need details now,” I tell her in between bites. The salmon is good and I bet it is fresh from Willy’s. 

Abigail is blushing when she speaks. “Ah-- we are sort of dating now,” she says with an unusually high voice. “No big deal.”

I clap her on the back as though I am congratulating a father after the birth of his first son. “Nice! Was it at the camp out?”

Abigail nods, and she is trying to remain composed. It would be convincing if she wasn’t red from ear to ear.

“Oh come on, I need details!” At least to distract my own mind.

They kissed, she said, nothing more. She told him she wanted to talk and before she could say anything he kissed her and once she starts telling me the story she doesn’t stop for a long time. She’s giddy and breathless, and I envy her so, so much. Suddenly I know everything about how happy she is, and how wonderful Sebastian is, and how she can’t stop thinking about him.

I smile for her, and I really am glad. It is hard not to feel a pull on your heart when someone is so happy and earnest as she is being. This union was a long time coming, it seems, and it has every look of a happy ending. 

“Oh, Theo, I’m sorry about Elliot!” she says after running out of things to say about Sebastian. I shrug heavily.

“I’m over it. He’s sort of pushy and not really my type.”

“I just-- It’s selfish, really, but I want everyone to feel what I am feeling right now. I want you to be happy, too. How can I help you?”

I am chewing on my lip again. I know what I want to ask her but I also don’t want to hear the answer. It’s also likely to ruin her mood so I am hesitating for her sake, too.

“What is it?” she asks, already worried.

“It’s-- nothing,” I decide finally. “I’m good.”

Abigail is not fooled. “Oh, come on, Theo. I just told you _everything_. You owe me some of your thoughts. Please?”

I let out a breath, but don’t start speaking right away. It’s embarrassing and I will need to work up the nerve to ask the question. I have to look away, letting my gaze wander over the distant horizon of trees. 

“I, uhm,” I start. “I want just wondering. Do you know if--” I take another breath. “If Sam is… straight?”

I said it, and there’s no going back now. I look quickly at Abigail’s surprised face, and when her brows curve in a worried expression I can feel my heart fall out of my chest. “Oh, Theo,” she says softly. 

I have to look away. “It’s not a big deal. Just curious.”

Her hand is moving to mine and I want to appear nonplussed so I don’t flinch or pull away. “I-- I don’t know for _certain_ ,” she says, but I can tell she’s trying to soften the blow. “I mean, he’s only dated girls. No one serious, though. So I can’t really say…”

It’s enough of an answer to feel a lump rise in my throat. I am fucked after all. I should not be surprised, but the sudden truth of it is threatening to choke me.

“Ah, I figured,” I say, and I hate the warble in my voice. I clear my throat and take another breath. “I’m cool with it.”

I am _not_ cool with it, and Abigail knows it. She’s running her hand up and down my arm and suddenly I need a hug. Like, _right now_. She obliges and I can’t help the self-pitying tears spring in my eyes. Damned if I am going to let them fall, though, so I bite my tongue, hard. “It’s fine,” I keep saying. “I’m just checking my options, you know? It’s cool.”

“It’s not fine,” Abigail says fiercely. “I wish I could find the sweetest, most beautiful boy for you to boss around. I want you to know how I feel.” She releases me and looks seriously in my eyes. I blink away the tears and try to meet her gaze. “You deserve to be happy.”

The force of emotion rising in my chest completely overwhelms my determination not to cry. I am all out sobbing into her shoulder because no one has ever said anything so nice to me before. All the years of being told that I was trash, all the people who were disgusted by me-- they were all being washed away by one sweet country girl. 

I _do_ deserve to be happy.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big chapter dump, complete. From here on I will be updating every few days or so. I don't expect this fic to be longer than 12 chapters or so, but who knows. Stick around, I usually finish my fics within a month. :)

I have to hand it to Elliot for giving me space. I have not see him for two whole days and when I do it isn’t until I actually go to the wharf on my own accord. He happened to be coming out of his cabin just as I pass by and he has the decency to look surprised at my greeting.

“Ah-- morning Theo,” he says, salvaging his courtesy. The way he is being hesitant and shy makes me want to talk to him, despite the alarm bells that are quietly sounding in the back of my brain. He has a stack of books under his arm and he looks a little less than groomed this morning.

“Uh, how’s it going?” I stop on the crushed rock path that separates two sandy dunes near his cottage. There’s a little mailbox at the junction and it’s marked with ‘E.V.’ with extremely loopy letters. 

He smiles with something that could be relief. It’s hard not to think that he is handsome, despite the off-putting feelings that still linger in my mind. I decide then that the least I can do is be nice to him. He’s obviously not the same person he was the other night at the tavern.

“Listen, Theo,” Elliot says, fidgeting with the hem of his long coat with his free hand. “I wanted to apologize for the other night. I was… crass. That isn’t like me.”

The memories of past apologies are circling in my brain, just beyond my conscious. I should be reviewing them and reminding myself that sometimes ‘sorry’ doesn’t cut it. But I am trapped in the moment and I can hear myself saying the words that I have said so many times before.

“Don’t worry about it.”

He takes a few tentative steps forward and I do not flinch this time. The part of me that is here, in the moment, wants to hear him out. I am feeling greedy from Abigail’s praising words and lonely from my still aching heart.

“Can I… make it up to you?” he asks carefully. “Maybe dinner?”

It’s like there’s a wheel spinning on my mind with a million different responses that the flipper could land on. It’s turning too fast so I can’t look at them all carefully and the time is running out. The wheel stops on ‘Sure.’ and so I say that outloud. It’s the answer that Elliot wants to hear.

So I am at the tavern again that night, torn between anxiety, shame and confusion. I have had enough time to turn this situation over in my head but all I can conclude is that at least I am not alone tonight. After all, when I am alone I think about Sam and about how much I wish he had asked me to dinner instead of Elliot.

I saw him today while running errands. Instead of stopping to talk to him I pretended like I hadn’t seen him. I am acting like a fucking teenager and I hate myself for it. He either didn’t notice me or noticed that I was ignoring him, because he did not come to greet me. This is why I am out for dinner with Elliot. Because I don’t want to think about it.

The tavern is half full, which is nice. It’s also half empty, which makes me nervous. I’m not ready to be in an intimate setting with this guy, even if he is tip-toeing around me like a sleeping baby. It’s just as well, because I am a big ball of nerves and the slightest movement is likely to make me jump.

He’s telling me about the book he’s writing and I’m only half listening. It’s cool, I guess, that he is passionate about something. And Yoba knows I don’t really want to talk about myself. I wonder if he would care about the farm or about animal husbandry. I wonder if Sam would.

“Theo,” he says, which brings me back into the present. “I know you don’t really want to be here.”

I am too surprised to answer right away. He’s hit it on the nose and I don’t have the wherewithal to deny it.

Elliot releases a sigh. “I just-- I don’t want you to think I expect anything of you. I want you to know that. I am not here to force you into anything unwillingly.” He pauses to push around the last bit of cauliflower on his plate. “Honestly, I am alright with just being friends. I’m interested in you, Yoba knows, but I don’t want any pity.”

I know I should be saying something, but my tongue is tied. I am grimacing instead, because I feel guilty of thinking so badly of him the other night.

“Guys like us…” he goes on, looking a little embarrassed. “You know, our preference. We need to stick together. There’s not many other here in the countryside.”

I nod, slowly. “Thanks, Elliot.” I fidget with my hands in my lap, because it’s hard to say words as heartfelt as him. But I need to say something. “I-- I’d like to be friends. For now.”

He seems satisfied, because he leans back with an easy smile. “I’ll get the cheque.”

\-------------------

Elliot leaves me at the crossroads that lead to my farm. He doesn’t lean in to let me smell his aroma or try to leave a lingering hand on my shoulder. He waves and smiles and I feel safe to return the gesture.

I’m feeling optimistic as I turn to head home in the late evening sun. There are cicadas in the trees and the sweet smell of wild roses that line the dust road. I want to let the beauty of the country summer heal my soul.

“Heyyyy Theo!!” yells a young voice and I nearly jump out of my skin. I wheel around back down the road to see a kid running towards me. It’s Sam’s brother, and I am scrounging for his name. His young face is alight in a smile and his eyes are practically sparkling. “We couldn’t find you! We checked the farm and the beach and the forest and the grocery store…” 

Sam is trailing him from behind, a skateboard under one arm and his other hand stuck in his front pocket. I feel a lurch of feeling in my stomach and it makes me panic. I am trying to think desperately of the right face to make, but I end up just looking dumbfound.

“If I didn’t know better,” he says when he catches up to his brother. “I’d say you were avoiding us.”

“I-I wasn’t!” I manage to stutter. I _wasn’t_ , not really. Well, except for when I _was_. “I was out for dinner.”

Sam’s face falls into a faint frown. “With Elliot.”

I want to stop my heart hammering in my chest, but it’s a losing battle. “Yeah,” I admit, because a lie wasn’t going to cut it. 

“I thought we didn’t like him.”

The brother is looking between Sam and myself. “Why don’t we like Elliot? I like Elliot!” he chirps. “He finds me seashells and seaglass. One time he gave me this crab shell that was a _whole crab_ with the claws and everything. It smelled like dead fish!”

I am grateful the kid is there because he is giving me something to look at other than Sam. “A whole crab?” I ask, exaggerating my enthusiasm. “How big were the claws?”

“Like, ginormous!” he said, stretching his arms for emphasis. “It could cut a fish right in HALF. Like, SNAP!” I can’t help but laugh.

“Come on, Vincent. That’s not why we were looking for Theo,” Sam says, with less patience for his brother’s stories than me. “What did mom give you?”

Vincent has a bag on his back and he remembers it with a start. He swings it off of his back and sets it on the ground. From the way he carries it, it must be heavy. How long has he been carrying it around, looking for me? When he unzips the yellow and blue zipper, I see it houses a pie. Several pies, actually. 

“Mom went on a baking spree,” Sam explains. “She tends to when she’s anxious. We got a call from my dad’s lieutenant…”

“Oh, Sam,” I say without thinking. I remember being told by Abigail that the father was away with the army. For a moment, my own worries were overshadowed by the realization.

“No, it’s fine,” Sam says quickly. “He’ll be home next Spring. It’s been a while, so mom is nervous.”

I relax a little, but Sam still seems tense. I try not to watch his face too closely. 

“About Elliot…” he starts.

“He was apologizing,” I say just as quickly. “He wants to be friends.”

Sam frowns. “And you trust him?”

I shrug heavily and give my lower lip a good chew before responding. “I don’t know. Sort of. I mean, he and I-- we sort of don’t have a lot of… options, you know?” I’m looking at Sam’s shoes like they are the most interesting thing in the world. I can hear a buzzing in my ears that has nothing to do with the cicadas in the tall maple trees.

“Options…” Sam says faintly. 

“Are you gunna eat all these pies?” Vincent asks, oblivious to the conversation. He has managed to work one of the pies out of his bag. “I mean, if you don’t want ‘em I’ll take them. I like strawberry!” 

“They aren’t for you,” Sam scolds, taking the pie from his brother and practically shoving it in my hands. “There’s more where these came from. Mom says to come over whenever you want.”

I hold my arms out for all of the pies being piled there. “Is that OK with you?”

“Of course,” Sam says with a touch of surliness in his tone. “Why wouldn’t it be?”


	8. Chapter 8

I am eating pies and thinking about Sam for the rest of the night, because apparently I hate myself. I know I should be putting him out of my mind and trying to warm myself up to the other options available. Elliot isn’t that bad, is he? At least he isn’t crazy or obsessed-- I’ve had my fair share of those in the past. He seems genuinely _OK_ with being friends.

But he is nothing to the stubborn frankness of Sam. Sam, who is so down-to-Earth that crazy and manipulative aren’t even on his spectrum. But that’s not why I am falling for him. I don’t like him for the things he _isn’t_ , I like him for the things he _is_.

The next day I am not able to talk to either Sam or Elliot, because it is the day that Robin and I start to build the barn. It’s been a long time coming-- Marnie from the ranch next door has been pushing me to take a few of her calves and after the success of the chickens I feel like I might be able to handle a few cows. They are huge, though, and seem to take a whole new set of rules to keep alive. I am nervous, but damnit if I am going to give up now. Marnie promises that she will help me every step of the way. 

Building the barn is much more work than the coop. Robin is a skilled carpenter, but this is too big a job for her alone. We are hammering and lifting for the better part of the day, and by the end we barely have a frame constructed. I can’t imagine how many more days of labour this is going to take. Robin leaves me sometime before dinner, claiming mouths to feed. She is Sebastian’s mother, and I wonder if she knows that Abigail has been the one actually feeding him lately.

The pies keep me sustained that night, too. They taste like guilty pleasure, and they are delicious. When I manage to empty one of the glass pie dishes I know I will have to return it to the owner which means another fated meeting with Sam. I’m not sure if I am excited at the prospect, or terrified. Either way I find myself getting warm in the face from just looking at the stupid thing. It’s pathetic.

The next day I have a moment of desperate panic where I am convinced Sam can hear my thoughts. He shows up halfway through the morning to collect the dishes (or so he tell me) and I find myself trying to clear my mind like a jedi master. I’d like to think the technique makes me calm and sophisticated but I trip over my words when they come tumbling out of my mouth. 

“The pies were good then?” he asks, because in the end that is the gist of what I am stammering. The worst part is he has this little secret smile as if sees all the things I am trying to ignore in my head. Actually, the stupid smile is making all of the things in my head _worse_.

“Hey Sam, you here to help?” Thank you, Robin, you sweet angel of a woman. She seemed happy enough planing wood on her own, but she’s now snuck up on us and I am grateful for the interruption. 

Sam’s smile falters and is replaced with a grimace. “Last time I helped this guy a tree nearly fell on me.”

“Oh, come on,” I say, finding my voice this time. “It was barely a scratch.”

“That would hardly be Theo’s fault, Sam,” Robin says, a hand on her hip. “When was the last time you did any real, hard labour? You kids spend too much time inside these days. Honestly!” The mom in her is leaking, and it is having the desired effect on Sam. From the look on his face, he’s already scheming up an excuse for not helping.

But then he looks at my face again and his mouth becomes a hard line. The sudden serious expression has my heart stuttering. I shut my mouth for fear of sounding like an idiot again. 

“I’ll help,” he says before cracking a grin. “But you’re buying lunch. Pizza-- and beer, I think.” I salvage enough dignity to roll my eyes.

Three pairs of hands are definitely better than two, and infinitely better than one. Despite Robin’s accusations, Sam knows his way around labour. He can hammer and saw, carry and prop. It also turns out that he is not the weak, gangly youth I took him to be, which I quickly learn when he decides to remove his shirt and work only in a muscle shirt. Emphasis on ‘muscle’. 

What I am choking on I will never figure out, but I am gasping for air and hiding on the other side of the half-finished barn. Sam has absolutely no right to look so good while working out-- not on _my_ property. Who asked him to help and get all sweaty, anyway? If I stand too close I can hear his deep laboured breaths, too. How the hell am I supposed to get any work done under these conditions?

“You alright?” I jump at the sound of Sam’s voice like some goddamn cartoon character. Yoba, do I need that beer. “We can take a break if you need.”

Yes, I need a break from Sam, but I’m not ready to stop working. Working is just about the only thing keeping me focused right now. “I’m fine.”

Sam is nodding. “I figured.” He pauses while loading a few more nails into the nail gun he is holding. “I’m sorry I called you scrawny.”

It had been a lifetime ago and I struggle to remember how annoyed I had been back then. “A lot changes in a month.”

“Yeah,” Sam says in one of those breathy, gently voices that has me flushing and looking away. He’s watching me so I make myself busy with putting my work gloves back on. “I guess I underestimated you.” He steps away from the newly erected wall as if surveying it. “You’re a proper farmer, huh?”

A deep swell of pride blossoms in my chest and I can’t help the stupid smile that spreads over my face. I don’t care, because those words are honestly the best I have heard since arriving here. A surge of affection follows the feeling, and I can’t look away from Sam. 

_They said I couldn’t do it._

“What?” he asks when he looks back at my face. I should feel embarrassed but I am too high to care about the emotions I’m wearing on my sleeve. 

“Thanks,” I say in one breath. “That means a lot-- I mean, no one else thought I could do it.” I take a deep breath because I know I should steady myself and keep working. I can hear Robin hammering away on the far side of the structure. 

“Who?” Sam asks, and despite his confused tone there is a little smile pulling at the edges of his mouth. 

I shake my head in explanation, because I don’t want to get into it and ruin my perfect moment. “Nevermind. Thanks Sam. Really.”

He really smiles now, a big, wide grin that could outshine the sun. It makes me want to look away, but I let myself get blinded by it. But then we lock eyes for a moment too long and I can feel another awkward blush starting to creep up my neck. 

“Uh, yeah,” he says, his tone mirroring my awkwardness. “You could make it up to me, I guess.”

I let the surprise pull me out of my embarrassment. “What?”

Sam runs a hand back and forth through his hair, making it flatten in some areas and stick up in others. “It’s nothing big. Just looking for people to come to our show. You know, to fill up the crowd. We’d give you tickets and whatever. You just have to show up.” It’s Sam’s turn to look away in embarrassment. 

Of course: the garageband. I had disregarded it before as a typical hobby of a guy living in his mother’s house, but suddenly I want nothing more than to see Sam play. “Of course,” I say with more enthusiasm than necessary, “With Abby and Seb, right? Sounds great!”

Sam grins again, looking about as pleased as I did when he called me a ‘proper famer’. I wonder how much happier it would make him if I actually complimented his band. In my current state, I doubt I could criticise anything he did.

We get back to work after that, which is a good thing, because I am blushing and breathless from the whole conversation. I work extra hard, trying to get the energy out of my system, but by lunchtime I am still giddy as a school boy. We eat pizza that Robin picks up from the tavern and Sam leaves afterwards, due for a shift at the Jojomart on the other side of town.

Before he goes he hands me a little card from a stack he has crammed in his wallet. It has his band name (‘The Alfalfas’) and the time and location of the show. It’s in 3 weeks and I’ll have to take a bus into the city to go, but I am determined. 

I’m sure that there is nothing that will keep me from going. Nothing, except the one thing that might.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Mentions of abuse in this chapter.

Sometimes I stand back and look at my life and wonder how a movie hasn’t been made of it yet. I don’t mean to sound full of myself-- any movie about me would be a tragedy, or maybe even a comedy, where the viewers continue to watch me struggle and fail. The timing of all my life’s events are ironic and timely in turns.

This time, the plot twist comes just in time to stop whatever hope I had of a normal, happy life. It’s like when the coyote is running towards a tunnel and his prey, only to discover (too late) that it has been painted onto a solid wall. I feel like I have been flattened.

My mother has always had a way of ruining my life.

OK, maybe that isn’t fair. After all, the man on the phone says that she doesn’t have long to live. She’s been in a medically induced coma so this time she can’t possibly be doing it on purpose. The man is mournful and solemn, and I learn in the short call that he is her new husband. He has a boring name, like Steve or Jeff or Paul. I don’t hear it, because my mind has gone blank beyond “Your mother is dying, and she told me to call you when the time came.”

There are a lot of emotions involved when I think of the woman who gave birth to me. She didn’t always have custody of me, but I have vivid, fierce memories of when she did. She was the one who convinced me I was worthless, between the neglect and the abuse. To her I was a nuisance and a mistake, and didn’t put up any kind of a fight when my father was released from prison and immediately began lobbying for custody. The judge had to choose between a drug addicted woman with no job and bad friends and a man who had just done 6 years for larceny.

Needless to say, the effects she had on me lingered for years afterwards. I spent a long time trying to forget about my childhood, first by fighting, and then by doing drugs, and eventually through therapy.

I haven’t seen or heard from the woman in more than 5 years. Heck, I hadn’t expected to ever hear from her again. 

So what am I supposed to feel now, knowing she is in the city on her deathbed? Am I supposed to feel sad that she is dying, or jubilant that she will finally be out of my life forever? 

I feel neither, but there’s still something there. I don’t have a name for the emotion and it sticks with me for a long time after I hang up the phone. 

The man asked me to come to the city. No, he actually _begged_. It would be the last time I would see her. She had something for me, too. 

Neither of these things do anything to sway me.

I sit for a time on my wooden deck and look out over the green, swaying wheat that has taken over most of my property. The cows will love it, Marnie says. The barn stands far to my right, nearly finished but for the roof and siding. We finished the wiring that allows for a few outlets and a light that hangs in the centre of the open space. I have plans for building a trough and stool that will help with my duties. Then I will paint the barn-- not red, as is typical, but orange like the black-eyed susans that grow around the edge of my property.

There is so much work to be done. There is always work to be done. That’s the life I have chosen: being busy and working hard and taking care of everything myself. I haven’t stopped working since I started the farm in the spring. The idea of a vacation is impossible. The idea of up and leaving to visit my mother’s deathbed seems equally impractical.

But the feeling I can’t name isn’t spite or hatred. I am not prepared to spit on my mother’s grave. Instead I feel a faint tug, urging me to the city. It’s the desire to see the conclusion, not out of morbid fascination but because of my need for closure.  
I am at odds with myself, and I can’t unravel the problem on my own. 

“ _Hey Theo!_ ” says Abby’s voice on the other end of the phone. She is chipper as usual. I wonder if she’s home, or out with Sebastian.

“Hey Abby,” I say, trying to mirror some of her enthusiasm, but I can hear the emotions in my voice. 

“ _What’s wrong?_ ” she asks immediately, because she’s got a knack for reading tones. Especially mine. “ _Are you OK?_ ”

I’m not OK, but it isn’t something I can explain over the phone. I take a breath which conveys to her my hesitation. “Are you busy?”

“ _Hang on--_ ” There’s the sound of feedback from the phone which suggests that she is covering the mouth piece. I can hear muffled voices. “ _I’m good-- want me to come over now?_ ”

I say ‘yes’, because now is as good time as any. Robin can’t help with the barn today and I have gotten my chores down to a science. It’s mid afternoon and I have a hour or two before I want to start cleaning up the second floor of the house. After the barn, the next big task is the pre-winter renovation. 

Abby arrives by the main gate with a look of forced cheerfulness. She is worried about me, and I hate that I am inconveniencing her like this again. But then I see that Sam is with her and my stomach falls a little more. I definitely wasn’t prepared to inconvenience him, too.

“Ah, hey Theo,” Abby says, looking slightly guilty. “I met Sam on his way here, too, so-- uh…”

Sam is slouching with his hands in his pockets in a way that tells me he is feeling a little uncomfortable. “I didn’t realize you two were having-- you know…” He makes a vague gesture with one hand that could mean anything, but I take to mean ‘a private conversation’. “I can come back later.”

Some other time I will stop to wonder why Sam had been on his way to my place at all, but I don’t have room for that now. My brain and chest are already over crowded with confusing thoughts and emotions. When I look at Sam’s face all I see if quiet worry and I decide that having him here is not a bad thing. No, he is as important to me as Abigail. More, even.

“Stay,” I say, my voice even because god knows I am not going to cry over this whole thing. I need advice, is all. I just need advice. My decision makes Sam crack a small smile. 

“Barn looks great,” Abby says in an effort to break the silence. “Think you’ll be done before the weekend?”

“Definitely,” I say, looking from her to Sam. “Thanks to Sam.”

“I’m just helping,” he says defensively. His cheeks seem to glow a little more pink from the praise. I suddenly want to pile him with compliments to make him blush more, but more pressing thoughts keep intruding. No, I am not allowed to be happy just now. I’m still flattened from running into that wall.

They join me on the porch and it’s comfortable in the sun. When no one speaks, I know I will have to start my explanation soon, but I let the silence stretch as I feel the warmth on my cheeks.

“I just got a phone call from the city,” I say as casually as I can. I don’t want my friends to feel too shocked at the next part. “My mother is dying.”

Inevitably, Abigail sucks in a sharp breath and Sam snaps his head to look at me. I am already nodding to try to lessen the worry. “It’s-- it’s not what you think. We’re estranged. I haven’t lived with her since I was a kid.” I know this isn’t enough of an explanation, but I don’t really want to get into it. I don’t want to play myself a victim.

“I didn’t expect to ever see her again, actually. We have… a complicated relationship.” It’s a cheap summary, I know, but for now it will have to do. “I… I don’t know if I want to see her. Even now.”

There is another silence, because, honestly, what is a person supposed to say to something like that? Abby and Sam both have wonderful mothers who they would never want to lose. How could they begin to understand what I’m feeling?

“But-- But I know I should,” I say quickly. “I should feel sad and comfort her in her last days. But, honestly…?” Honestly, how _do_ I feel? I feel selfish. I feel like she owes me my childhood back. I feel like I owe her nothing. I look at Abby, hoping to Yoba that she tells me otherwise. I want her to tell me I am being selfish.

“Did you love her?” Sam asks, and I have to force myself to look at him. I am afraid of what he thinks, but his eyes are not judging me. His brows are turned up in worry but otherwise his features are soft.

I have to consider my answer. “I wanted to love her,” I say in a small voice, because I hadn’t really meant to say it out loud. 

Somehow it is Sam that keeps talking. Abigail, who can talk for hours straight, is sitting silent to my left, listening, as I am, to Sam’s soothing voice.

“If someone like you couldn’t love her,” he says gently. “Then she must have done something very wrong.”

Yes, I want to say. She hurt me. She used me. She abandoned me. Instead, I bite my lip.

“Just because someone is related to you,” Sam goes on and when he looks away I am able to fix my eyes on his face. “Doesn’t mean you are bound to them. Blood doesn’t mean anything.” He looks past me to Abigail and smiles. “I would do anything for Abby and Seb. They aren’t my siblings, but sometimes they feel closer to me than my own family.”

“We build our families,” Abby chimes in, and I look back at her. “I mean… I love my family, but I love Seb too.” She blushes. “A-and Sam. And you, Theo. You’re my family now, too.”

OK, _now_ I want to cry, but I swallow hard and will myself to hold it together.

“You should go see her,” Sam is saying. “Not because she’s your family, but to see it through to the end.”

His words are so close to my own thoughts that I am shocked out of my emotions. 

“I agree,” Abby says, for good measure.

I let out a breath that I have been holding for hours and look out over my land. “But the farm…”

“We’ll take care of it,” Abby says right away. “I mean, I’ll help-- and I’m sure we can convince some others to pitch in. Seb knows way more about agriculture than he will admit.”

“Robin and I will finish the barn,” Sam says, to which I have to protest. “No-- it’s _fine_. You’ll just owe me, like, 50 beers.”

I do cry now, not out of sadness, but out of the heavy force of kindness punching me square in the chest.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much for updating every week... Sorry this chapter was so late! And sorry it's such a downer. Sorry, Theo.

It’s been months since I’ve been to the city. It’s been just as long since I sat in a damp-smelling bus, rumbling along a lonely highway. The countryside is blanketed with fields-- wealthier farmers than me who plant acres at a time. Corn and potatoes seem to be the most common, which would account for why Pierre only offers me so much for my little hobby crop. So little, in fact, that I only grow enough to eat. I focus on other vegetables and fruit: hops, tomatoes, strawberries, and my newest pride, hot peppers. They aren’t as hot as the ones you can get in the city, but they are fresh and delicious, with a growing heat that leaves your throat tingling.

I’m thinking about the farm, but it is forced. I can feel my thoughts straying, but whenever they do I start to name farm buildings along the highway: grain elevator, greenhouse, grinding mill, stable, barn, storage… I think about what buildings I want on my farm. I imagine new crop configurations. I wonder what kind of wood I want to redo my floor with. I think of names for my new cow.

It’s a long 4 hours to the city and I am exhausted by the time I arrive. It’s hard work, actively suppressing your own thoughts. 

But I am going to have to face the past eventually. After all, I am starting to recognize buildings and landmarks along the freeway into the city. Each sparks a memory for me, most no more than a fleeting face or conversation with a friend. As we exit the freeway and make our way to the bus depot downtown, the memories become sharper-- I grew up downtown. These were my streets and my stores. I spent a lot of time walking these sidewalks.

And with the memories come a general feeling of familiarity. It isn’t a comfortable feeling, but one that hung over me for most of my life. It is like a low cloud, cold and dark, dulling my senses and my emotions. It puts me on edge.

How can anyone be happy here? I wonder, as the passengers on the bus start to exit. No one seems to be smiling. I step off the bus with my backpack and into the dirty, busy bus depot. A unenthusiastic voice is announcing destinations. A flock of dark pigeons roost on the rafters over head. A smell of cigarettes lingers on the air.

I transfer onto a city bus, paying a tired-looking busdriver the fair before sitting next to a man large enough to take half of my seat as well as his own. I hug my backpack tight as other passengers squeeze past me without saying a word.

The hospital is a ten minute drive from the depot. Half of the bus empties onto the sidewalk where people in hospital gowns lean against posts with cigarettes between fingers. There is a steady traffic of people on the sidewalk, passing the hospital without a glance while heading for the surrounding office buildings. 

The public entrance is flanked by the only trees for blocks. The bark looks grey in the overcast light and the leaves are still in the windless summer afternoon. It is going to rain, I know. I’ve gotten pretty good at predicting the weather. Or, I’m pessimistic enough to expect bad weather on a day like today.

Going through the hospital doors is the first hurdle, and once I’m on the other side I can feel my heart start to pick up speed. It’s as thought I forgot why I was coming here and only just remembered. Only, I have been thinking about this moment all night and day. But the closer I get to my destination, the harder it is to breathe.

The lady at the reception desk gives me a hard time, because my driver’s license is expired. She scrutinizes my SIN card and eventually needs to see two more pieces of ID before she believes my claim to be the family of Mrs. Randall. Lucky for me she didn’t take her new husband’s last name, or they’d probably throw me out. But instead of feeling frustrated, the exchange just makes me tired. I want to turn back and find a hotel but she’s finally given me a visitor’s pass and a room number so I have to soldier on.

The door is closed when I approach it. I hesitate in front of it, listening but failing to hear any voices beyond. I’m also hesitating because I am afraid. There’s no denying the pressure on my chest and my sudden desire to flee. I’m fucking terrified. 

A voice beyond the door speaks. It is a man, but I can make out his soft voice. No one replies. 

I knock once before turning the knob and forcing myself to step forward into the open door.

There are four beds in the room, and all of them have people in them. The first two are old women, both with their eyes closed. One has a bouquet of daffodils that might have come from Pelican Town. Curtains shield the other two beds. One moves slightly before it is pulled aside and a man steps out.

He looks like he is in his 50s, with greying black hair and a bald patch forming right on the top. He is dressed modestly, but his clothing look rumpled, as though he had slept in them. He is surprised at first, then his mouth opens to speak.

In his hesitation, I break the silence. “I’m Theo.” Even though I speak softly, the sound of my voice is alarming over the calm room. No one stirs, however.

“Theo,” the man says with what seems to be relief. He crosses the room with hands outstretched. He is taller than me, and he takes my hands into his own. “I’m so glad you came.”

I should say that I am happy to be here, but I don’t, because I can’t make myself lie. I want to pull my hands away, but I force myself to stay. “How is she?”

The man, who I remember is named ‘Paul’, turns back to the bedside he had just left. He doesn’t drop my hand and leads me there. I have no choice but to follow.

The woman lying on the bed doesn’t look like anyone I know. Her eyes are sunken and closed and there is a tube in her mouth. Her skin is pale and loose on her bones. I hesitate at the foot on the bed, searching the face. Finally I find her-- that woman who was my mother. Under the layers of age, there’s a woman who used to wear loads of makeup to hide her imperfections. I can see narrow shoulders that would hunch over a table laden with bottles or drugs. If her eyes were open, what would they look like? Would they still be full of anger and shame? Would they be full of regret?

“Cancer,” Paul says from his place by her side. “The doctors managed to save her twice before, but this time…” There is emotion in his voice and I look at him. He looks genuinely upset and I want to ask him why. He is watching my mother’s face with sorrow. 

I must be too quiet because he looks up at me then. “Do you want to sit down?” 

I shake my head mutely. I haven’t moved since I laid eyes on the dying woman in the bed. I don’t know when I will move.

The man releases a breath. “We’ve got a room for you in the Jojo Hotel across the street. A few nights, anyway. That should be enough, until--” He clears his throat, and closes his eyes as a wave of emotion passes over him.

He loves her, I realize then. I actually loves this woman. How could such a thing be true? How could anyone come to love someone like this?

“Please, Theo,” Paul says. “Sit down. I have a lot to tell you.”

I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to know how someone could love my mother when I could not. I tried so hard, but it was impossible. I _is_ impossible, isn’t it?

When I don’t sit down, Paul looks back at his wife and sighs again. “We got married 5 years ago,” he starts. “It was a little thing, only a few witnesses. But I knew it was special for her. It was like-- like a fresh start.”

No. This is not what I want to hear. I don’t want to know about her happy ending. This is not the closure I came for.

“I knew about her past. I knew about the drugs and the crime.” He puts a hand on hers. “But she was past all that. We lived happily for 5 years.”

“No,” I say finally, but I’m not sure why I said it out loud. I am watching myself from far away, like a movie. “That’s not fair.”

Paul is looking at me again. He isn’t shocked, or angry, but his eyes are glossy. I can’t look at him so I look at my mother’s face again. I open my mouth to speak, because I want to explain myself but I can’t.

“She told me about you, too,” he goes on, and his voice hitches. “She told me everything.”

I bite my tongue, hard. A swell on emotions is trying hard to erupt up my throat. My fingernails are digging into the palm of my hand.

“She accepts so much of her past. She learned from her mistakes. But there was one thing she always regretted. Something she will always regret.” He is crying now but I don’t want to hear it. I turn to leave before Paul says those last words. I am down the hall and into the dull heat of the outdoors in moments. I do not run, but I gasp for air all the same. I am leaning on my knees, doubled over, trying desperately to breathe. A passing nurse asks me if I need anything but I shake her off.

By the time I get myself together I find I am sitting in a nearby patch of grass, holding my knees for dear life. I watch an ant crawl over my shoe and listen to the sounds of nearby traffic. When I am calm, I stand up and make my way across the street to the hotel.

The room is small and the bed narrow, but I sit on it anyway. There’s a message on my phone when I finally look at it. It’s a picture of Abby holding one of my chickens, looking horrified. I can’t help the laugh that escapes my lips.

 _Everything’s fine here!_ the message reads. _Good luck in the city!!_

Bolstered, I plug in my phone and unpack my pajamas. Tonight I will sleep. Tomorrow, I will try again.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like maybe a trigger warning is necessary here. Lot of feelings about abuse and self-harm and suicide.

Everyday it is a little easier to visit my mother. Paul isn’t angry with me, though I sort of want him to be. He’s kind and patient and everything that my mother never was. I still can’t understand how they got together. I don’t think I want to understand.

On the second day, Paul tells me the rest of the story. He tells me about the cancer and the treatments and the hospitals. He also tells me the things I don’t need to hear: about the trips they went on and the things they did together. He tells me about the good times, though part of me thinks he’s just talking to himself. He holds my mother’s hand throughout it all. 

On the second day, he hands me a letter. It is written by my mother but I can’t bring myself to read it, not yet. I put it away and promise Paul that I will look at it eventually.

On the third day, Paul tells me about himself. He works in insurance sales, and sounds like the most boring person I have ever met. But his slow and steady personality no doubt counted for something so far as my mother was concerned. His only family is a sister who lives overseas and he never had children. 

On the fourth day, we have a fight. It is nothing like the fights that I used to have with my mother. No one is throwing anything and we don’t even yell. Paul doesn’t seem like someone who would ever raise his voice.

“Please, read the letter,” he urges. I have been waiting for him to say something, but was hoping he wouldn’t. He isn’t a bad person, and I don’t want to lie to him. “She wanted to mail it to you, but she ended up in the hospital before she could. It isn’t meant to be read after she is gone.”

I shake my head. I have finally consented to sitting in one of the chairs by the bed-- one closest from my mother’s head. “I’m not ready.”

“When _will_ you be ready?” he insists. “You may never be. I know it’s hard--”

“ _Hard_?!” I snap, because I can’t help it. “You have no idea.” It’s the first time I have shown this much emotion in this room, and it has an effect on Paul. But not the one I had hoped.

“No, I don’t,” he says, and he doesn’t take his eyes off of me. “I never will. Only you and your mother can understand it. And she can’t tell you herself-- only her letter will convey her emotions. Her thoughts. Theo, I am sure she wants to apologize!”

“I don’t _want_ an apology!” I say, my voice rising a little more. “I want my life back! I want to be loved! I want to-- to _understand_...”

I want to know how you can love her, when I could not. I want to know what she did to deserve love. I want to know what I must do to deserve love. 

“Theo, please…” Paul says, and he is coming over to where I am sitting, with his hands reaching to me, as if to offer comfort. I pull away and retreat to the foot of the bed. “It can’t end like this!”

“It’s not my fault!” I say with a crack in my voice. “I _tried_. I really _tried_...” The tears are welling up and then falling down my cheeks. I grip the railing at the end of the bed until my knuckles are white.

“She’ll be gone soon,” Paul says, pleadingly. “Too soon.”

“I can’t,” I choke. “I don’t know how. I’ll never--” I cover my eyes with both palms. I can’t say the words, though they are circling my head. 

I’ll never love her. I don’t know how to love her. I don’t know how to love _anyone_.

I flee the hospital after that. My hotel room is hardly better, but at least I can be alone here. I sit on the floor at the end of the bed and release all of the emotions that are welling up in my chest. With no one watching, I cry for a long time.

I am still sitting on the floor when my phone rings. I test my voice before answering, making sure there are no emotions left there. Crying has left me empty and calm. 

“ _Hi Theo!_ comes Abby’s cheerful voice. I can tell she’s exaggerating for my benefit, but I don’t mind. “ _How’s it going?_ ”

“It’s fine,” I say, because what else could I possibly say? Someday I will probably tell Abby the whole story, but not now. Not over the phone. “How’s the farm? Have you burn everything to the ground yet?”

Abby laughs. It’s a sound that lifts my spirits, if only slightly. “ _It’s fine. They haven’t let me do much, after. Especially after what happened with the chickens. It’s mostly been Sam and Seb. Oh, and Elliot. Even Maru and Robin come over some days_.”

I’m smiling, I realize. It’s a strange sensation on my face after all of these days. 

“ _Actually-- if you really want to know about the farm, I’ll get Sam._ ” There’s a muffled sound and then Abby yells Sam’s name. I can clearly hear her coaxing him, as if he was busy elsewhere and didn’t want to take the phone. 

“ _Shut UP, Abby! I’m not-- Ugh..._ ” Another sound of rustling receivers and then: “ _Hey, Theo._ ”

A little bubble of giddiness pops in my stomach. I can feel a tingle run over my skin and I take a deep, silent breath of happiness. “Hey, Sam. How are things?”

“ _Fine. I mean, great. The farm’s good. The barn is done and nothing’s dying, so…_ ”

“Bare minimum, I see.”

“ _Hey, next time pay me better. I mean, beer isn’t actually a real currency anyway._ ”

“Ugh, you make me sound like I’m buying booze for some underaged kid.”

“ _Who are you calling a kid?_ ”

“I’m older than you.”

“ _Hardly. I’m taller than you._ ”

“Hardly.” Only he _is_ taller. It’s one of his good points. “What happened with the chickens?”

“ _Abby stepped on an egg. The chickens got mad and now she can’t even go near the coop._ ” I hear him chuckle, and it’s a beautiful sound. Abby makes an offended sound in the background.

I listen in silence, letting the sound of banter wash over me like a healing bath. 

“ _Stop throwing things! Ugh… Hang on, Theo._ ” I hear the receiver being muffled again before Sam is back on the line. “ _I’m outside now. Abby and Seb are being weird anyway._ ”

“How’s the third wheel thing going?”

Sam sighs into the phone. “ _It’s not bad. Just once in a while they get all mushy and it’s gross. I wish you were here._ ”

The effects of those words are instantaneous. I am burning from head to toe. All I can manage in reply is a forced laugh.

“ _I mean-- with the third wheel thing. And the farm. This place needs you._ ” I’m not sure, but he sounds embarrassed. “ _You are coming home, right?_ ”

I feel my heart squeezing from want. “Of course. I hate it here.”

There’s a short silence in which I realize I might have said too much. “ _Are you OK?_ ”

I take a breath before answering. “I think so. I mean, it’s complicated. Everything here is so complicated. I miss the farm.”

“ _I think I know what you mean,_ ” Sam says in a quiet voice. “ _Just let us know if you need anything. I can send you pictures of the chickens chasing Abby if you want._ ”

I laugh, genuinely this time. “Better leave my girls alone.”

“ _Oh, they love me,_ ” he says with his own laugh. “ _Maybe when you get back you can hire me as your chicken whisperer._ ”

“You offering to help me on your own accord?” I say with mock astonishment.

“ _Yeah, why not? Beats babysitting Vincent all day._ ” He stops suddenly and in the moment of silence I can’t think of what to say. “ _I mean, if you don’t mind. I’d like to help._ ” He’s being serious now, and it’s making me blush again.

“I’d like that,” I say, silently thankful that he can’t see my face.

“ _Cool._ ”

“Yeah.”

“ _Alright, I’m gunna go break up Abby and Seb. Let us know when you’re coming home, OK?_ ”

“OK. Say ‘hi’ for me.”

“ _Will do. See you soon, Theo._ ”

“Bye Sam.”

I know what I have to do next. My mind clear and my heart full, I pull out the letter my mother has written for me. It has my name on the envelope, but nothing more. Did she even know my address?

A little of my fear seeps back into the bottom of my stomach as I tear the envelope open. I take a breath before beginning to read.

**Dear Theo,**

**It’s been years since you have heard from me and I don’t expect you to want to hear from me now, so thank you for reading this. I don’t deserve to talk to you ever again, so thank you for giving me a chance.**

**I am dying. I don’t want to tell you this so you will feel sorry for me because I know it’s useless. I am way beyond deserving your sympathy. I am telling you so that you know: I will be gone soon.**

**It’s sort of cheap that I am telling you this now, on my deathbed. I should have told you 5 years ago. I should have told you when you were a child. But I wasn’t ready then and I’m not even sure I am ready now.**

**For a long time I thought I was a worthless person. I thought I did not deserve happiness and that made me into a horrible person. I expressed my loneliness and self-hatred with self-harm, drugs and abuse. I slept with bad people and tried to kill myself. But the worst thing I did was have a child.**

**You were a mistake, but not because of who you are. You were a mistake because someone like me did not deserve to have you. You should not have been raised by me. You should not have been anywhere near me. You did not deserve the childhood I gave you.**

**I am not seeking your forgiveness. But I want you to know that I regret everything. I regret bringing into this world. I regret letting out my anger on you. I regret abandoning you.**

**But I do not regret that you are alive. Because now you can live whatever life you want, out of the shadow that I cast over you. I hope it isn’t too late: I hope you can still be the best person you can be.**

**In these last few years I have learned something. It is the only thing I hope you will ever learn from me: I do deserve to be loved. I am not worthless.**

**And neither are you.**

**You deserve to be happy, Theo. You deserve to be loved. You deserve the best life you can live.**

**Paul tells me even my love is worth something. So I give it to you. I love you, Theo. I’m sorry it took me so long to realize it. I love you. I love you forever.**

**Mom**


	12. Chapter 12

On the fifth day, they take my mother off of life support. Paul is a wreck and we forget our differences in the wake of tragedy. I let him hold me and I listen to his sobs in the hospital hallway. I don’t cry, though I know it would make him feel better. I hope the hug helps anyway, because after all is said and done, I like this guy. Whoever he is, he loved my mother. And if she managed to deserve love, then so could I.

I don’t know how I feel. I am not shocked or sad, but empty, like I’ve been all used up. I move through the day like my feet are lead and my head is a balloon, talking and interacting as if disassociated from the rest of my body. 

That night I send a message to Abby with an update. When she calls back, I do not answer. 

On the sixth day, there is a funeral. My mother has been cremated and buried, and the ceremony is short and sparsely attended. I do not recognize the few people who attend. They seem to be friends of Paul. 

Shortly thereafter we meet with a lawyer. I don’t know him either but he is handling my mother’s will. She has left me everything, which wasn’t much at all.

By the end of the day I feel like all the colour has gone out of the world. I am numb and tired and the empty feeling is still there. Sounds are muted. Actions are slow and sluggish, as if moving through water. I eat, but the food tastes like nothing.

I sit in my hotel room at the end of the day and look out of my window at the hospital. It is raining and people move along with sidewalk with umbrellas. The traffic is stop-and-go and occasionally someone honks. Life continues in the city, gray and spiritless and without love. 

Someone is trying to parallel park in front of the hotel. I don’t notice how long it has taken them until I hear the honk. People are starting to get impatient. Two more tries and the old station wagon finally pulls into the space. I narrow my gaze at who comes out. The street is three floors below me, but I can make out the purple hair through the haze of rain.

I am in the lobby in five minutes, puffing for air from the rapid descent down the stairs. They are just passing the registration desk when they spot me-- all three of them.

I am nearly knocked over by Abby. She is squeezing the life out of me and I have to tell her to stop for fear of breaking ribs. She releases me but not before two other sets of arms are wrapping around me. It’s suffocating but I can’t say I hate the sensation. 

“What are you guys doing here?” I ask when they finally let me go. Abby is brushing away tears and Seb has his hand on her shoulder. Sam hasn’t let go of my arm after the hug. 

“You weren’t answering your phone!” Abby says in alarm. “We were worried!” 

“So you drove all the way out here to rescue me?”

“More like kidnap you,” Seb corrects with a half grin. “Are you ready to go home now?”

I look from him to Abby and then to Sam, who hasn’t said anything but is smiling calmly. I press my lips together, because words are going to be impossible just now. I nod vigorously instead as tears come unbidden to my eyes. This prompts Abby to hug me again before I can finally pull it together enough to go get my stuff from the room.

I say goodbye to Paul, who is staying in another room. He gives me his contacts, in case I ever need to talk to him, and I divulge my address. He promises to write, and I honestly hope he does. Then I take my backpack downstairs and pile into the car with the others.

It is still pouring as Seb pulls out of the bad parking job and starts to make the slow way out of town. The dark sky grows darker still as the sun is setting behind the clouds, and I know it will be late by the time we get to Pelican Town. I don’t care how late it will be. Knowing that I will be back at the farm soon as he feeling more full of life than I have been all week.

The sound of the rain on the roof fills masks the sound of the radio, which comes out of the only working speaker at the front left of the car. Abby chats idly from the front seat before the sounds lull her to sleep. Silent falls as we pull out of the freeway onto the lonely highway that will take us home.

It’s too dark to see the countryside this time. The streetlamps are widely spaced, and only illuminate the dark road. Inside the car it is dark and peaceful. I take in a large breath a release it slowly. With it goes the worry and strange emptiness that plagued me for days. 

“You OK?” I hear softly to my right. I look at Sam and I can make out his blue eyes each time we pass a street lamp.

“Yeah,” I breathe back. “I am now.”

Sam seems to smile before turning back to the window. He props elbow on the edge of the window and rests his face on his palm. Without looking back to me he reaches out and tentatively touches the hand I have rest on the space between us.

With a shiver, I open my fist and let his fingers slide over my palm. Our fingers thread together slowly before his hand closes over mine. 

I have to look out the window. There’s nothing else I can do. I have to look out the window and pretend to be counting farm buildings or whatever the hell I usually do to distract myself. I can’t think about holding hands with Sam because if I do I am going squeak or cry or pop a boner. Or all three at once.

But I have to look at the facts. Sam is my friend and this gesture is meant to comfort me. I am mourning, after all. I would think nothing of Abby holding my hand, so why not Sam? We’re just a couple of dudes holding hands out of friendship; deep, loving friendship. Maybe the kind of friendship that has hugs and snuggling and the occasional kiss?

Well shit. There’s the boner, after all. 

I shift instinctively, thought I know it’s too dark for anyone to notice anything out of the ordinary. Sam releases my hand when I do, but when I settle again he slides back in, resting comfortably, palm to palm.

It’s a long trip back to Pelican Town. The rain stops by the time the car rolls up the uneven laneway to the farm. It’s midnight and there is only a light on my gate to indicate the property. Abby stirs when the car stops but Seb keeps the engine on.

“I’ll stay here,” he whispers back to us. Sam lets go of my hand and opens the door with a noisy ‘pop’. I gather my bag and exit out my side. We walk together in awkward silence, through the gate and up the path to my porch. I can see a single light on in my living space.

“Thanks for watching the place,” I say when we stop at my porch. Thank Yoba it is so dark, because I can’t look Sam in the face. 

“Anytime,” he says in a voice that is too soft and serious. I can hear my heart in my ears. 

“I’ll see you guys tomorrow then,” I try to say evenly. “Thanks for everything.” I turn to leave but Sam has caught me by the sleeve of my coat.

I pray silently that he can’t see how deep I am flushing when I turn back to face him.

“Don’t forget about the show,” he says. Surprised, I don’t answer right away. “I mean, if you still want to come.”

“Oh!” I exclaim. “Of course. Definitely.”

“Good,” he says, sounding relieved. “But don’t push yourself. If you need anything--” In the dim light I can just make out his eyes and his mouth. He’s running his tongue over his lips again. 

I nod to cover the deep breath I need to steady myself. “Thanks, Sam.”

“Goodnight, Theo.”

“Goodnight.”


	13. Chapter 13

I am as giddy as a fangirl the day of the concert. It’s ridiculous. I mean, look at me: I have mud up to here, sweat in my armpits, and I’m pretty sure my hair is full of burrs. I’m a Real Farmer, for Yoba’s sake. I’m responsible and mature. I’m no-nonsense and practical. The only thing that rules my life is water and sun and plants and animals. 

Yet, when I think about the show, I literally _squeal_.

The farm is in good condition. The others really did take good care of it and I have absolutely no idea how I will make it up to everyone. But I stop short of telling myself that I don’t deserve their kindness. I am done with that kind of thinking. I will just have to thank them, somehow.

I am starting to develop a plan that involves brewing beer.

The calf is ready for me to pick up tomorrow, which is a good thing. It probably wouldn’t be a good idea to leave her alone on her first night at the farm. Marnie tells me she’s independent but I saw her: she is still so small compared to the other cows. And she’s my first, so I’m probably going to coddle her way too much. No, I want to have a clear schedule to welcome her to the farm.

And I don’t want any distractions tonight.

Not that anything _could_ distract me.

I devote the afternoon to having a minor meltdown over the state of my closet. I know I shouldn’t worry about what I wear but I can’t help it. I keep wondering what Sam would like to see me in and then remind myself sharply that in all probability Sam doesn’t _care_ what I’m wearing. Unless he does, and for that slim chance I find myself wishing Abigail wasn’t already at the venue, setting up. I text her, anyway, hoping she might have an opinion on what I should wear. After a few pictures she chooses a graphic tee and pants for me. I wish I could hug her out of gratitude, and I tell her so.

The venue is in a nearby town, not a city so large as the one I came from, but large enough to host a little outdoor music festival. Nonetheless, it’s the biggest staged Sam’s band has ever played on. I wonder if they are as nervous as I am.

There are already several people at the bus stop when I get there. Parents and friends, all coming to support the small-town band from Stardew Valley. For some reason the sight catches me off-guard. I have to stop and swallow the unexpected lump rising in my throat, before anyone sees me and wants to converse. It’s a happy sort of feeling, the type that pulls on your heart. These are the people who helped support my farm, not just when I was away, but every step of the way. And sure enough, here they are, prepared to cheer on their young musicians. Even the mayor is here, apparently opting to join everyone on the bus instead of taking his own car. Even Haley is here, who complained so adamantly about the noise. Even Seb’s step father is waiting with the rest of the family.

Even me, who didn’t grow up in this town and has no right to call themselves a country boy. But I am here now, and I am a part of this town. I am a part of this _family_. This is why I am choked up.

The bus ride to the concert is a party in itself. Everyone is talking and laughing, no one a stranger (except the people who are strangers, but they don’t seem to mind at all.) Lewis doesn’t sit down for the entire ride, instead going from row to row, conversing with his townsfolk. Maru convinces the bus driver to play the band’s CD on the overhead speakers. Someone, though I can’t tell who, has started passing around a handle of whisky, though it never makes its way to me.

Elliot sits next to me, and I don’t have the time to work up a cold sweat.

“Sorry-- I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, because I jump visibly at his arrival. I had been eavesdropping on a conversation between Abigail and Sam’s mothers.

“No worries,” I say in a pitch a little too high to be considered calm and collected. “How are you?”

He smiles before he answers, in a way that suggests that he isn’t going to lie about his answer. “Wonderful.”

I wonder briefly if he’s been drinking the whisky, but it’s possible his joy has nothing to do with alcohol. Does it have to do with me? I try not to look so obviously nervous.

Then his face drops-- not to a sad expression, but he looks a little serious. Now what?

“I heard about your mother. I’m sorry for your loss.”

Ah, of course. There was no avoiding the subject. It was only a matter of time before people started to come forward to offer their condolences. I have been practising my responses in the mirror, trying to arrange my face to convey a message of subtle mourning. How am I supposed to be honest with my feelings when I don’t even know how I feel about her death?

“Thanks,” I say in a quiet way. What was the other thing I was supposed to say? I scramble for something else, but in the end the silence speaks loudly. Eventually Elliot clears his throat as if changing the conversation.

“I-- uh, I know this is a bad time…” He hesitates, and I swallow thickly. Yes, this is a terrible time. “But I thought I should be upfront with you. I’m seeing someone.”

I blink a few times rapidly because I am a little surprised. That was not what I was expecting. “Oh-- Oh! That’s… Totally cool.”

Elliot smiles. “Really?”

“Yeah,” I say, trying not to look insincere in my approval. “Really, I’m glad for you. I don’t mind at all.”

He’s still smiling as he leans back and seems to relax. “Thank Yoba. I know you just wanted to be friends, but I was afraid-- well, nevermind. You don’t have to worry about me asking you to any more awkward dinners.” 

I laugh a little, because that dinner _was_ awkward. “How about only regular ones? With friends. Maybe even with that ‘someone’ who you are seeing.” I let me eyes travel over the bus, as if obviously searching for who that person might be.

“He’s not _here_ ,” Elliot says with some exasperation. “And I’m not about to out him. He’s a little shy and he hasn’t told anyone. I’m respecting his privacy for now. But I’m sure eventually we could get together.” He’s smiling and looking a bit distant and for a moment, I envy him. But I’m not jealous, because we were never meant to be. Instead, a bit of peace and calm comes over me.

“I’m happy for you,” I say honestly.

“So am I. Very happy.” He sighs dramatically. “Want to watch the show together? Leah was supposed to come but she’s sick. I don’t fancy the idea of standing alone like some kind of pariah.”

I grin, and agree.

It’s a perfect night. Though it is late in the summer, it’s still warm and the crickets are out in force. There’s a buzz on the air that has nothing to do with bugs: a festival excitement. Kids are laughing and running around, music is playing for many sources and many coloured lights illuminate the park where the stage is erected. We stop on the way to the mainstage to pick up poutine. There’s a beer tent nearby that is going to be very useful after the show, as well.

I opt to be close to the front of the stage, which seems to be alright with Elliot, as well as nearly everyone else from Pelican Town. Another band is playing but the setlist claims the Alphalphas to be next. I eat my poutine while chatting idly with Elliot, who is telling me about his book again. This time I listen because it would be cruel to ignore him a second time. He’s pretty serious about this whole writing thing and it sort of makes me wish I had an artistic bone in my body.

The band is finishing up: at least, people are clapping harder than before and I get the impression that there won't be another song. The crowd in front of the stage isn’t huge: less than a hundred people, and less than half of the number of people in the beer tent. I feel a little rush of anticipation and I find myself straightening my shirt and trying to flatten my hair. I suddenly miss my food because it was distracting my hands and now I’m just standing here awkwardly.

Elliot laughs and I dare not look at him because I feel completely transparent right now. I’m probably blushing, to boot.

Abigail is the first on stage to check the microphones and wires. She waves to the crowd and I wave back, along with several other people. Sebastian eventually comes out to set up his keyboard as well. Both of them look good: someone convinced Seb to wear a tight-fitted black shirt and his skinny jeans are extremely flattering. Abby is brilliantly coloured in contrast, with a neon orange shirt and a lime green denim skirt that had to be from a second hand store. Her hair looks freshly died. 

I never used to pay much attention to what Sam wore. He sort of always made everything look effortless, like he rolled out of bed wearing it. He’s got a casual, down-to-earth sort of style that fits his personality. But I’m paying attention now; Yoba, how I am. He’s shucked his old, worn jeans for a fresh pair that hug his hips more than the old, and gold-printed black tank top that he has no business wearing. He looks just short of a real rock star, and I am gaping.

“Close your mouth, dear,” Elliot tells me, and I snap my mouth shut so fast I nearly bite my tongue.

I have only heard the Alphalphas play once before. I intruded on a practise session, just as they were wrapping up. It shouldn't be a surprise, then, to see Sam manning the guitar and leading the vocals. It shouldn’t leave me numb to hear his voice crooning just barely audible over the electronics and instrumentals. 

But I am standing there, completely enthralled. He’s singing about the universe and cities and street lamps. He closes his eyes to hold long notes and when he steps back to play guitar you can see the passion flowing from his fingers. 

“ _They told him;_ ” he sings.

“ _They told him;  
They told him he couldn’t do it._ ”

“ _Tomorrow, yesterday, a thousand years ago;  
He was down so far with farther more to go;_

“ _They told him…_  
They told him…  
They told him he couldn’t do it.”


	14. Chapter 14

Abigail is staring at me with the stupidest grin and if I didn’t love her so much I would throw something at her. It doesn’t help that she’s a table away from me and I can’t ask her what the hell she’s looking so smug about. I have a few ideas, but not knowing is absolutely killing me. I mouth the words ‘what’ over the din of the beer tent but she just grins wider. 

“What is she so happy about?” Elliots asks, effectively reading my mind. Then he shifts to look at me and I watch him scrutinize, as if I am the cause. “Is she checking you out?”

I have to laugh at that one before taking a drink of the terrible bottle of overpriced festival beer. Elliot has one, too, and we’re sharing a wobbly little stand-up table. Abigail is surrounded by five other people, all praising her and Seb for their performance, and I’m waiting for them to finish before offering my own congratulations.

“Oh, she knows I’m a waste of time. No, that’s the look of someone who has something exceptionally juicy to tell me and she is waiting because she likes to see me suffer.”

Elliot has nothing to say to that, so I drink again, willing the beer to taste better. It doesn’t matter: I’m in a great mood. The band was fantastic. Sam was especially amazing and not just because I am completely head over heels for him. Even if I didn’t know the band members, I think I would still listen to their music. I already bought a CD from the little merch stall that Maru was manning.

“I’m going to get another drink,” Elliot says and I wave him off, because Abigail and Seb are finally making their way to me. 

“You guys were great!” I say, genuinely, because for the moment I need to gush. “I loved it!”

“I bet you did,” Abigail says, leaning on the table and making it wobble. She’s flushed in the cheeks and looking smug again.

“What does that mean?”

And now she’s grinning and I let out an exasperated sigh. “Why don’t you ask Sam. Hey, Sam!” She waves and Sam appears beside me, not too close as to give me a heart attack, but close enough that my breathing isn’t coming out right. “Theo wants to know where you get your inspiration for your songs.”

Sam’s eyes go wide and he ducks behind his bottle as he takes a long swig. Abigail is laughing until Seb elbows her in the ribs. “Ah-- hah, sorry,” she says, catching her breath. “I’ve had a few shots. What a show, eh?”

“You fucked up on the last number,” Seb says with a laugh, and Abby gives him a look of mock offense.

“Because you messed with the settings at the last minute! I honestly thought it was a new song and I panicked!”

“Sounded fine to me,” I say happily, though I know they aren’t really fighting. “Really-- I loved it. All of it.” My eyes stray to Sam, which is a mistake. He’s smiling and it makes my cheeks warm. I have to look somewhere else, but Abby is grinning like an idiot again.

“More beer?” Seb asks tentatively, as if testing the waters.

“Elliot’s gone to get me one,” I offer in reply. There’s a subtle shift at the table that I would have missed were I not paying far too much attention to Sam. His face falls and his brow furrow only slightly before taking another drink of beer.

“I hope you aren’t too heartbroken,” Abby says, which wouldn’t seem like a shocking thing to say except that Sam takes that moment to choke on his beer. “That Elliot’s got a boyfriend now.” She’s looking at Sam as he coughs up the liquid that he mistook for air. “I know he sort of liked you, Theo.”

“Ah, well--” I’m not sure why I’m hesitating. The conversation is strange, to say the least. “I’m sort of relieved. I kind of felt obligated to give him a chance, but now I’m free, or whatever.” Why does this make me feel warm in the face again?

We are stopped short by Elliot, who reappears with a much better brand of beer and a refreshing change in conversation. It isn’t long before other villagers come by to talk and drink before everyone collectively realizes that the last bus was about the leave.

Abigail, Seb and Sam make their farewells, having rented a hotel room nearby. Sam and Abby seem to be arguing about something as we part, and as curious as I am, the bus isn’t likely to wait for me. On the way home I decide, happily, that this is quite enough for the happy life that I deserve.

Of course, this doesn’t mean an end to hard work. Now that I am back to the farm the load is heavy and I have a lot of catching up to do if I will be ready for the winter. Not least of all is fixing up the house so that I don’t freeze to death. Suddenly I understand the hardships of those living here thousands of years ago. I find myself researching how to jam and pickle, as well as what crops, if any, I can grow in the snow.

Unfortunately summer isn’t over yet, and I have the new calf to think about in the meanwhile. She is _lovely_ , too young to start the milking process (which apparently involves a bull and a private barn, but I am not ready to think about that) but full of piss and vinegar. Robin and I built a fence around a little coral for her to graze in, and the first thing she does every morning is leap about like an antelope. I had no idea cows had such personalities, and I no longer regret not having a dog.

But what I really want to do, more than play with the cow or fix the house, is slack off and think about Sam. My life is falling back into a comfortable routine, without worry or unpredictability, and I feel free to daydream about things that may never happen. It hurts a little, but I’ve come to terms with the fact that we will only ever be friends. Hoping for anything more is just asking for heartache. So I am content with my daydreams.

Working on the house is a big job, and I have enlisted help again. Only this time I make sure to pay for the labour properly. Most take the money, but my friends refuse any payment other than food and company.

I can’t complain. Sam looks great when he’s swinging a hammer, let me tell you.

I tell Abby this, almost by accident. We are sitting on the porch as we often do, sipping lemonade and commenting on the weather. The conversation somehow turns to how good Seb looks in a muscle shirt, and a counter with a consideration of Sam.

“Not that I’ve been watching him or anything,” I say quickly.

“Oh, of course not,” she says with a knowing smile.

“I’m allowed to _look_ , aren’t I?”

“I think looking is the whole point, dear,” she says with a pat on my back. “Especially when he’s showing off like that.”

“What do you mean?”

Abby is smiling again, and I am reminded of the grin at the concert. “He’s got plenty of old t-shirts. He wears them during practise. But for some reason whenever he’s here doing work he’s wearing one of those sleeveless numbers.”

I have to roll my eyes at this. “Oh come on, Abby. You’re reading into it too much.”

“Am I?” she counters, and I have the feeling there’s something else she isn’t telling me. It makes my heart pick up speed, but I master my face to not show it. “Have you been listening to our CD?”

Yes, almost every day. “A couple of times I guess.”

“Have you actually listened to the lyrics?”

“I-- what?”

She turns to look me straight in the face, and now her smile is a little softer. “Don’t you wonder who he’s singing about?”


	15. Chapter 15

There’s no way, right?

There’s no way Sam is into me. It’s literally impossible. Figuratively impossible. It just doesn’t make sense. Sam is straight. At least, he was _supposed_ to be.

Abigail’s words have me thinking in zigzags, and I am not longer the calm, unworried creature I wanted to be. Now I can’t even look at Sam without completely losing it. I am misinterpreting everything he does now: the way he wets his lower lip, how long his eyes watch me, and the tone of our brief conversations. Of course, we talk even less now because the moment we are ever alone together my tongue stops working and I see my life flash before my eyes. 

And yet.

He _does_ watch me while we work. And once, he shows up at my house with a band t-shirt and a batch of his mother’s brownies for no reason at all. Our hands manage to touch each other when I accept the gifts and I feel a physical response almost immediately.

I have to work extra hard to release the tension, and the house is going to be done way ahead of schedule as a result. It distracts me, if only for a short amount of time.

When I decide my house is fit, I order a couch to replace the bed that I have finally put in the upstairs bedroom. It’s a long, comfortable one that fits all four of us if we don’t mind a bit of shared personal space. When the renovations are finished, we vote on a movie to watch. In the end, its three movies, because who would ever just watch one installment of the Lord of the Rings? And, of course, there’s no watching the _regular_ versions of the movies. No, we have to watch the _extended_ editions and after all the planning it turns out that I am going to have to devote an entire night to this crazy idea. Abby, Seb and Sam promise to help me with the farm work the next morning, to make up for it.

So here we are, all sitting snug on the new couch, the fire crackling because it’s not quite as warm tonight as it has been. There’s popcorn and drinks and cookies that Sam’s mother baked. What’s more, I am sitting next to Sam, which means our shoulders are pressed together. On my other side, Abby is already leaning heavily into her boyfriend.

I can’t decide if I am going to die of happiness or anxiety.

But damn, are these movies _long_. I’ve seen them before, many times, and I’ve been working all day to make up for the fact that I’m not likely to get anything done tomorrow. I can feel my eyelids droop halfway into the first movie. Somehow I stay awake for it to finish, if only because Abby keeps quoting every single line. I’m amusing myself by throwing popcorn at her.

The second movie’s disk is in the player and I yawn. The couch is so comfortable and Sam’s body is a like a hot water bottle by my side. I want to snuggle into it and let the sound of his breaths lull me to sleep.

I wake up with a tingling sensation in the side of my face. I am pressed against something that is harder than a pillow and it takes me a second to remember where I am. The TV is still on, and several people in costumes are riding on horses. I’m watching it sideways.

I sit bolt upright when I realize my situation. I am using Sam’s lap as a pillow, and to my dismay, when I look at his face, I see that he is still awake. Abby and Seb are not.

“Shit,” I swear quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Sam whispers back and I wish it was easier to meet his gaze. He’s watching me with his lips slightly parted. “Heh, you have an imprint of my jeans on your face.” He reaches up to run a finger on my half-numb cheek, leaving a line of pins and needles in the wake of his touch. I wonder how obvious my blush is in the low light. 

I want to speak. I want to say something to slice through the heaviness that has saturated the air between us, but no words come out and I watch him dumbly. He hasn’t pulled his hand away from my face and frankly I don’t _want_ him to. Not when the line he is tracing is drawing slowly across my lower lip. 

My heart is beating out loud, hard thumps in my chest like the heavy steps of a giant. I can hear it in my ears and feel it in my finger tips. Is it hot in this little house, or is it just the fire that’s raging under my skin?

Just then Sam snatches away his hand and uses both to push himself up into a upright position. Then he leans forward and looks at me with mild concern. “Theo,” he breathes, because he doesn’t want to wake up Abby and Seb any more than I do.

“Yeah?”

Sam wets his lower lip like I have seen him do a hundred times and I watch his tongue, mezmorized. When I look back to his blue eyes he is watching my lips, too. “Can I…” He stops and both of us hold our breath as Abby shifts where she lays slumped in Sebastian’s arms. But when I look over she is still asleep and I turn my attention back to Sam. I desperately need to know what he was going to ask.

“Can you what?” I prompt him gently as I shift into a sitting position, pulling my knees underneath me. I square my shoulders with Sam, putting one arm over the back of the couch. I take a chance and settle my other hand gently on his leg, where my head had rested moments before. The gesture sets butterflies a-flutter in my stomach.

Sam’s hand comes to meet mine slowly; carefully, sliding over the top and resting on my wrist. He is leaning forward too, until I can hear his deep, uneven breaths. “Can I--” He hesitates only for a moment this time. “Kiss you?”

I can’t say anything so I nod instead. I’m not sure when I will ever be able to speak again. Who cares, when mouths are much better used for kissing? Sam’s lips are soft and careful on mine and I lean forward slowly to meet him. The kiss is slow and chaste and somehow manages to activate every single nerve in my whole body.

We part, but not very far, just enough to look at one another and gauge a reaction. Sam’s eyes are heavy lidded and he moves his head just enough to brush the tips of our noses together. Then we lean in to kiss again, and my body is sent into orbit all over again. We kiss carefully and slowly, determined not to cause the _smacks_ and _pops_ of over enthusiasm. The hand Sam slides up my arm and to my jaw is careful and gentle. The tongue he works between my lips is slow and hot.

I am utterly breathless when we both lean back to take inventory. I strain my ears to listen to the sleeping couple beside us, but their deep even breath suggest they are none-the-wiser. Satisfied, I turn all of my attention to Sam. 

“I-- I don’t think I’m straight,” is the first thing he has the audacity to say, and I can’t help the laugh that snorts down my nose. Sam tries to shush me but I can’t help it. The couch is shuttering as I try to hold in my laughter with a hand clapped over my mouth. Seb mutters a sound that suggests he is waking up.

“What time is it?” Abby asks sleepily, her eyes not yet open. I lean back on the couch, letting the laughter spill out of me. Sam has both hands over his face. “What’s so funny?”

Seb stretches and blinks awake while Abby looks blearily from me to Sam, propping herself up on an elbow for a better look. I can’t answer her, but I will soon. How could I not?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter after this, me thinks


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which _nothing actually happens_.

The first chance I get I am dragging Sam by the wrist to the porch outside. Abby and Seb seem to come to terms with the fact that they have been left out of the joke, which is probably because Abby has become an entire cheerleading squad for my cause. She has probably already read my mind, anyway, judging from the gleeful look in her eyes. They have decided to hit the hay, which is to say, the sleeping bags that they have set up in the spare room upstairs. 

I’m sorry Abby, but I can’t think about them right now. I don’t care where my other friends are. I can’t think about anything right now that isn’t the lingering sensation of Sam’s lips on mine. 

But I haven’t dragged him out here to make out again. No, he’s here to explain himself, damnit.

“Alright,” I say with an extravagant breath. “Start talking.”

Sam takes a heavy step towards me. In the light trickling out of the window, his face is solemn and his lips parted. “I’d rather kiss you again.” 

I feel my knees go weak at the sound of his voice and I do what I can to stem the little breathy moan that sits at the back of my throat. I have to keep it together, damnit. “Th-that sounds great. _Amazing_ , actually. But…” I swallow thickly, because the events of the last few months are replaying in my mind like a movie montage. I had been so sure that Sam would never like me-- not in _this_ way, anyway. “This is so… unexpected.”

Sam frowns, and I regret putting that expression on his face. I should have just let him kiss me after all. “Sorry,” is what he says. “I rushed things, didn’t I?” He runs a hand through his blonde hair. “I just… couldn’t help myself.”

Oh Lord Yoba above, save me from temptation. I have to actually close my eyes and take a deep breath to stop myself from jumping directly onto this boy. If I listen closely, I can actually hear the hormones racing through my bloodstream. 

“I wanted to tell you sooner,” he is saying softly. “I thought of a hundred different scenarios. Thought of a hundred different ways to say it.” He looks away, and his eyes seem to travel over the farm. “I almost said it. A few times.”

“Said what?”

Sam looks back at me and opens his mouth to speak. But he hesitates, and I realize that he is nervous.

“Said what, Sam?” I can’t believe how desperate I am to hear him say it. I have to have confirmation. I need to know that I am not misreading the situation. I need to know that we aren’t just friends after all. But he’s still hesitating to I step even closer so that our bodies are nearly touching. He’s taller than me, and I have to look up at his face. He could kiss me now, if it would be easier than speaking. And he does lean forward, but slips past my face and to my ear. I can feel the hot tickle of his breath on my neck.

“I’m super into you.”

Oh great, I’m laughing again. The situation is just so ridiculous and I am just too giddy to hold it in. Who the hell makes a confession like that, anyway? I don’t want to make Sam anymore self-conscious, though, so I take a steadying breath and sandwich his face between two hands. Then I kiss him a little harder than before, to show that I really mean it.

“That’s fucking fantastic,” I tell him with all of the relief and happiness that I can muster into one sentence. “I’m super into you, too.”

Sam looks relieved, which is ridiculous, because he’s not the pathetic, pining gay farm-boy. What does he, the hot lead singer, have to be nervous about? If only he knew how wrapped around his finger I was. How much _more_ wrapped I could become.

“Can we kiss now?” he asks, almost too innocently.

“Are you really going to ask permission every time?”

“I- I wasn’t sure if you liked it.”

I hope he can see me rolling my eyes. “Sam. I have been wanting to kiss you for months now. You have a lot to make up for.” I slide my hands over his hips as I step forward, giving in to the overwhelming desire to be as close to him as possible. He’s warm compared to the chilled autumn air.

I don’t feel the cold anymore. I don’t feel the fatigue, either. I can’t remember what it feels like to be anxious, or sad, or empty. He’s filling me up with molten gold: warm and heavy and brilliant, and I can feel my chest expanding with it.

Mostly I can feel his lips, his hands and his tongue. I can feel them more than I can feel my own appendages as they work over and in me. I take them greedily, because there’s nothing I want more in the world. I want to feel all of Sam and I want him to feel all of me. 

I have no idea how long we have been on this porch, but eventually the other sensations are starting to come back. It’s cold, and it’s late, and as much as I want to say that I can live off of Sam, I am only human. I suggest that we continue our conversation in the morning (such as it is) and Sam admits that he didn’t get a nap like I did. I blush and kiss him again before we finally go back into the farmhouse.

The only sensible decision we make is to sleep in separate rooms. Sam settles on the couch as I make my way to my own bed. There’s no telling what would happen if we decided to sleep together. I have to admit I’m foaming at the mouth at the very idea, but I know better than to rush into this without some planning. The last thing I want to do is scare Sam off by explaining the details of sex between two men. Not that I expect him to be on the receiving end-- on the contrary, I’m looking forward to the parts that Yoba gave him-- but I have no doubt in my mind he’s never been with a guy. In fact, I am not entirely sure he’s been with a girl, either. 

His potential virginity is all the more reason to take things slow, but I have to say the prospect of being his first has me swooning. I am getting ahead of myself, because right now, all that matters is that all my doubts and worries have been erased. Abigail was right and I was so wonderfully wrong. 

I _do_ deserve to be loved. And I will be.

\------------

At least going to bed in separate rooms does not erase the possibility of sharing a morning together. My alarm goes off at the crack of dawn as it always does and as usual I pull myself out of bed and start the routine. I wash my face in the little sink in the master bedroom that Robin recently repaired for me. Then I get dressed in my work clothes and head downstairs to put the coffee on. I hear no sounds from the spare room but the door is still closed, telling me that Abby and Seb are asleep within. 

Quietly I creep down the stairs and make my way to the newly finished kitchen. It isn’t pretty, but it is functional. The fridge I got second hand from the mayor and the propane stove and oven I cleaned to a shine. The countertops and cupboards are a horrible shade of green, with several missing knobs, but they are clean and hold my meager assortment of dishes and pots. The coffee maker is new, at least, and I turn it on before heading outside.

The sun has risen by the time I take a moment to look over my land. I love this time, when the treetops are lined with golden sunlight and the darkness of the night lingers in the west. A low fog clings to the fields. It isn’t cold, but I know it will be soon. 

I am startled by the sight of someone coming out of my chicken coop. I hadn’t bothered to check if Sam was still asleep on the couch, not wanting to wake him, but apparently it was in vane. He waves to me and indicates the basket in his hand: he has already fed the chickens and let them out of the morning. He’s also coming back with eggs.

Great, now I want to kiss him again. Not only has he confessed to me, but now he’s helping out like some kind of fabulous husband. I am starting to rue my decision to take things slow.

He greets me with a smile and a chaste kiss on the lips. I can feel my face and neck and ears and frankly every part of me blushing furiously.

“Morning,” he says in a quietly cheerful way. He’s grinning from ear to ear, just like me. It doesn’t stop him from kissing me again.

“Morning,” I say breathlessly. I feel like I have been running a marathon, and I haven’t even seen to the crops yet. I’m not sure I will ever get to them at this rate. This doesn’t stop me from accepting another kiss.

In fact, it takes a loud and rambunctious sound behind me to finally snap me out of the moment. I turn with a jerk to the source: the window into the living room. Two faces are beaming at us and the cheering from Abigail is barely being muffled by the glass. She looks like a real cheerleader. I can feel my face burning again.

“About time!” she yells into the glass, her eyes twinkling in the early light.


End file.
